Why Waist Length?
by Silver Pard
Summary: Enough was enough. He'd looked at all the possible courses of action and their consequences. He'd researched it intensively. It was time to cut the damn hair.
1. Sephiroth has a problem

Sephiroth had a problem.

He had been studying his predicament intensely for hours, looking at advantages and disadvantages of every course of action and their possible outcomes. The situation was far too dire for him to make a single false move. He massaged his temples for a moment, irritably wishing Hojo would see the wisdom in keeping him happy and allow him to take aspirin. How exactly could an aspirin in any way counteract the effects of mako? All its absence did was make him extremely short-tempered and prone to throwing incompetent (sorry, _important_) Shinra officials down flights of stairs. And the time would come, he promised himself darkly, when he would take full advantage of the Shinra HQ being seventy floors high. A very sadistic smile crossed his face at the thought.

But back to the problem at hand. His hair.

It had the advantage of being impressive when entering a battle, he allowed, so long as the wind never went beyond a mild breeze. And it was good for making both an entrance and an exit in any situation – there was a light breeze that sprang up the moment he started towards a door of any kind that ensured it always made an impact, trailing impressively behind him. But that was about it.

Had no one beside himself ever considered how damn impractical all that hair was? Yes, it was impressive making an entrance in battle, and yes, it was good for being twined around fingers in less life threatening situations (although he could sometimes debate the usage of the words 'less life threatening' to describe them) but other than that, it was both very annoying and a nuisance. And when things were both of those adjectives around him, they rarely, if ever, lasted beyond five minutes.

Anyway. It restricted his movements – he couldn't go outside in strong winds for fear of being strangled by his own hair. Never mind just how _undignified_ it was to be perpetually dragging his hair out of his face before inevitably being forced to tie it back in a hurried and very unmanly ponytail. Like hell he was going to try and tie it back in to the _almost_ acceptable topknot in gale force winds. And when he _was_ downwind, he still had to struggle to move forward against the combined weight of both his impressively billowing (but heavy) leather coat and his too-long hair trying to pull him back.

And it wasn't that much better in battle either. Thinking of strangulation, he wondered why his opponents had never had the imagination to take advantage of that streaming silver banner and use it to garrote him. That would make an interesting article in the Midgar Times. The Great Sephiroth asphyxiated by his own hair.

His hair was probably the reason he'd decided to make such an impractical, overlong sword as his signature weapon, he mused. The Masamune had the reach necessary to decapitate his opponent before they ever reached within the five or four feet necessary to grab his hair and effectively immobilize him. But gods forbid he should ever face a fast-moving midget.

He didn't even want to _think_ of the tangles. As high as his tolerance for pain was in a battle situation, he had zero when it came to his hair. He was having flashbacks to the daily torture at the mere mention of the word. He shuddered.

Other reasons. It was so easy to use his hair against him. He couldn't count the number of times he'd woken up from a mako-induced haze to discover some sadistic lab assistant had tied his hair into multiple little plaits complete with pink ribbons and little bows. Provide a counterpoint to his pale skin indeed. The next time it happened, they were _all _going to discover just why Hojo had demanded he never be allowed within five feet of a potential weapon after those blackouts.

Not to mention just how mistrustful it made him of sleeping anywhere that didn't have security sensors, at least ten locks and as many bolts on the door, armed guards with semi-automatics, and CCTV. He was, he decided, probably more paranoid over the thought of troopers and recruits with scissors than of Wutaian warriors armed to the teeth. It was the reason he'd insisted troopers use guns – guns couldn't be used to cut his hair in his sleep. He hadn't been able to enforce the same rule for SOLDIER though, so he'd taken to carry a pre-emptive materia at all times, as well as a short dagger. Just let them try, he promised himself, grinning wolfishly at the thought. No one took _his_ hair as souvenir. No one but a fully qualified barber was going anywhere _near_ his hair with scissors.

In truth, he couldn't see one reason why he should keep his hair at its present ridiculous length. He'd researched the situation extensively, and there was nothing in the rules and regulations that stated he had to keep his hair waist-length, as Hojo insisted. So why on Earth did he still wear it long?

He reached for the scissors he'd been staring at longingly for the past hour.

'Sir!' A figure barreled through the door, all black spiky hair and purple uniform (his revenge for not being able to stop SOLDIERs carrying cutting weapons).

Damn. Zack. Damn. Mission to worthless little mountain town. Damn it all.

His fingers twitched towards the scissors before he forced them to still. So close, yet so far. '_As soon as I get back from this… 'Nibelheim'…_' he promised his hair emphatically '_you and I are going to part ways_.' He smiled at the thought, and ignored his companions' efforts to shuffle as far away from him as possible. '_Soon I'll be free..._' he contemplated laughing maniacally, but decided it would look highly undignified and probably drive his companions to throw themselves out of the moving truck. Hm... actually, the idea had its merits...


	2. How to start a fire without materia

In a completely illogical jump in time, space and storytelling, Sephiroth found himself searching through the books in the basement of the Shinra mansion for The Truth regarding the reason he couldn't cut his hair. There was also a voice that claimed to be his dead mother Jenova – twenty-five years long dead mother – whispering promises of godhood in his ear, but as that had nothing to do with cutting his hair, he assiduously ignored it. He was, by now, in a mood that put all his previous, rather explosive examples to shame, including the one when he'd grabbed Heidegger by the hair, dragged him to the top floor, kicked him down the stairs and prodded him with the Masamune every time he stopped rolling. He spared the moment to laugh maniacally at the memory before resuming pacing, ignoring the trooper running out of the door.

He was also wishing he'd had the foresight to bring a cup (or maybe several pots) of coffee down here, because the caffeine withdrawal was making him prone to reciting aloud and talking nonsense about traitors and Ancients. He'd also wanted to throw some at the books in a fit of pre-meditated anger, but had decided that it would have been a waste of perfectly good coffee

What good were these books anyway? They smelled of decades old dust and decay, were falling apart in his hands, the countless number of them were making him claustrophobic _and_ he suspected he was becoming mildly allergic to mildew. No, they were no use of all. Unless, of course, one of them was a telephone directory, and had the number of good hairdress- barber. They made mildly interesting reading, but he suspected he was going mad to the lack of reference to his hair and why he couldn't cut it.

This was, he discovered, a correct assessment of the situation, as he found when he realized that at some point in his sojourn down in the basement he had written 'waist-length hair and no scissors makes Sephiroth go crazy' on the walls in neon pink.

Enough was enough, he decided, looking at words declaring his madness. In pink. Neon pink. He'd spent far too long down here, collecting dust and cobwebs in his hair, and probably spiders to go with the cobwebs. And tangles. Oh god. The tangles. The mere thought of the word was giving him flashbacks – predominantly in mako green – of the torturous chore it was necessary to perform each morning to make his hair into a silken waterfall rather than the briar-afro cross he generally woke up with. And he was only ever armed with a brush and his own indomitable (well, mostly) will. There was, of course, no way he was stupid enough to go in undermanned and use only a comb.

He turned to the door, determined to storm out impressively – silver hair doubtlessly all aflutter – when the voice-that-claimed-to-be-mother decided it had been ignored long enough and decided to say something of import.

**Gods don't have to have long hair.**

It gave him a long pause but he carried on walking anyway, sighing as the usual breeze sprang up to greet him and send a silver pennant streaming back gently into the basement.

**Wait! **

The voice was desperate enough to warrant an exclamation mark, he reflected. It had to be desperate now. It had better speak up quickly though, because he was still moving forward, and exactly 4.3125 steps would take him out of the door.

**Gods don't have to have long hair. Join me, and you can cut it!**

He stopped mid-step, a move probably only he could make without looking like a complete idiot. As it was, he looked rather amusing. "Go ahead." He said at last, after the several long seconds of silence necessary for creating tension, belatedly putting his foot down. "I'm listening."

* * *

"So… all I have to do is destroy this town as a demonstration of 'your' power – thereby making me eligible for the gas chamber – spout some nonsense about taking the planet back for 'Mother', rescue you from the reactor, and _then _I can cut my hair?"

**That is correct,** the voice affirmed.

"Sorry. No deal." He was halfway through the door when Jenova helpfully supplied an image lifted from his nightmares – tangled gossamer threads of silver wrapping inexorably around his throat, choking him, stars exploding in front of his eyes before the world began to fade, turning black…

"Alright! I'll help you!" He could have sworn the voice was doing a jig, but as it was impossible to dance without a body, he dismissed the feeling as light-headedness brought about by lack of caffeine.

He began to search systematically through the materia, looking for a potential weapon of mass town destruction, preferably a Mastered Fire or Ifrit, while running through his reasons for taking part in this ridiculous charade once more.

Tangles.

Possible strangulation in battle.

Almost certain strangulation in strong winds.

The fear of fast-moving midgets.

Troopers with scissors.

Women drooling. Okay, so that _sounded_ like a good reason to have long hair to complete his image of unutterable magnificence, but really, it was a very unattractive sight.

And worst of all, he looked like a _girl_. Not anywhere near as much as the pretty – wait, _pretty_? – little trooper Zack had taken to protecting – all spiky blond hair and wide blue eyes – but still.

There'd been a nine year old boy who'd tried to kiss him when he was eight – couldn't he _tell_ the difference between a boy and a girl? – who he'd ensured would never walk properly again after he'd (accidentally, of course) kicked him in the groin during recess. Accidentally. Although stamping on him repeatedly before grinding his heel in hadn't been.

But the damage had been done. It had become all too evident to him that normal men just did not have waist-length hair. Normal male employees did not have waist-length hair. Normal SOLDIERs did not have waist-length hair – with the exception of Zack, whose tangled jungle swallowed combs whole and could make scissor blades buckle just by being in the same five feet radius.

The thought occurred that he must be very desperate indeed if he was willing to risk the gas chamber just to cut his hair. Then he remembered the time Hojo had ordered he be allowed no sharp objects for five weeks after the first time he'd threatened to cut his hair. And the time he'd woken up to find his hair plaited _yet again_ and a photo taped to the door of his quarters declaring 'We know'. And the time he'd gone to the Slums looking for a pair of scissors - all Plate residents had been informed in no uncertain terms were they ever to give him a pair or they'd find themselves meeting the Turks down some dark alley – and he'd ended up being groped by some drunkard. The man had reappeared in the already well-polluted river a fortnight later – in pieces. But it had been a terrible blow to his then fragile dignity that had taken weeks of sadistic mission orders to helpless grunts and countless cups of coffee and unnecessary firings to recover from.

**What's taking so long?** There was a distinctly petulant tone to the voice now.

"No fire materia." He snapped, beginning to get very pissed off with being snapped at and ordered around by a voice that sounded more like a five-year-old than Zack on a sugar high. He began to expand his search of the mansion to include anything remotely flammable, cursing his height as he hit his head on the low doorframe of the exit of the basement. It took a while to run through all the curses – he was a military man, after all, despite the ridiculous hair – by which time the pain had since then vanished long ago and he found himself simply reciting by rote.

Jenova found him hours later staring at an immense pile of miscellaneous articles including matches, candles, cigarette lighters, countless books, a can of gasoline, several bottles of cleaning liquid, magnifying lenses and for some odd reason, a hedgehog that he had to keep prodding back into the centre of the bonfire using a sharp pointy object he seemed to have forgotten was called the Masamune and was _usually_ used as a weapon.

**What's wrong?** There was now more frustration than petulance in her voice. There was also a sharp squeal as the hedgehog found itself unintentionally impaled.

"How the hell do you make a fire without materia?"


	3. Sephiroth's Five Steps to Making an Exit

There were times when a fearsome reputation came in handy. One of those was that when he started lighting a fire in the centre of the town, nobody dared to ask him what he was doing. The other was that when he went from house to house, humming Handel's Messiah under his breath as he set them alight, still nobody dared to try and oppose him. Or even move, really. It was rather disappointing – weren't mountain folk supposed to be a hardy breed? Exposed to the elements as they were? But never mind. He was sure they'd put up _some_ semblance of fight once he got round to slaughtering them.

Hm. Check list for 'Making an Impression.'

Go mad slowly and surely (must have some reason _why_ he would destroy a mountain town. Never mind its mere existence was reason enough). Nevertheless, supposedly go insane from the contents of numerous books informing him he was science subject. Honestly, how much of an imbecile did they think he was? He wasn't stupid. He knew well enough that normal children did not grow up in a lab receiving mako injections and being primed for a life in the army. Besides, what else could he possibly be, with mako green eyes and ice-white hair from childhood? But since he wasn't supposed to know that, he played along. It just wouldn't do to reveal that he wasn't a tragic fallen angel. So… go mad. Check.

Destroy town in spectacular way. Preferably involving flames, as this was a mountain town used to ice and snow. Besides, no matter how much he was compared to ice or a god or an ice god, it was cold, dammit, and he wasn't too fond of being uncomfortable. Hence the choice to use fire. Anyway, bodies being barbecued were so much more traumatising for anyone somehow still alive to watch. Flames. Check.

Cut up worthless little town people who'd denied him coffee, all in front of little trooper who made him seriously doubt his own sanity – god, he needed to visit a psychiatrist again when this was over. Stupid little… cut up townsfolk. Check.

All followed by Sephiroth's Five Steps to Making an Exit. One, incline head downward towards prone spectators lying eviscerated on the floor. And anyone who was somehow still be standing was doubtlessly shorter than him, so incline head towards them too. Step two, smirk. Evil smirk. No pouting, that just didn't present a good image of complete evil. Step three, turn and face wall of flame, coat and hair, despite the absence of wind, moving of their own accord, billowing out memorably. This was, of course, the inherent ability of any villain wearing long, flowing clothes to be able to make them 'swish' despite the complete and total absence of any propelling force. Step four, walk straight through flames. Never mind the possibility of being burned, or having clothing or hair singed, that just didn't happen to him. Might happen to everyone else, but not to him. Step five… disembowel more people after exit (bred like rabbits, these mountain folk, they were all over the place. Good thing he was there to keep the numbers down). Casually. It was always far more impressive if it didn't look like he was trying. Which he wasn't.

**Will you stop flouncing around and get me out of this damn reactor!**

"I don't 'flounce'."

**Oh really.**

"Really. I just like to make an impact on people."

**Well, whatever it is you're doing instead of helping me, stop it.**

"Yes, _Mother_." Jenova had just become number one on his list of people to decapitate, he decided. A new record – President Shinra had been top of the list for the past ten years, closely followed by Hojo. Hojo had dropped down a place after Sephiroth had realised that while he would never have to see Hojo more than twice a week if he could help it, he'd have to face President Shinra at least daily if only to explain, yes, the army was running perfectly, no, there were no more civilisations to crush, and yes, he valued his job enough that he wasn't going to let slip just where Shinra visited on his days off. Idiot. Hojo was followed in the list by Rufus and Scarlet (they edged out over Heidegger because of what he'd accidentally stumbled across staying late to finish paperwork. He'd seriously contemplated scouring his eyes out with acid after _that_ hideous sight). But Heidegger _was_ his favourite to throw down stairs. Not just because throwing Rufus or 'the Prez' into a wall was liable to get him suspended with no pay. He _rolled_ for god's sake. There was nothing funnier than Heidegger rolling down the stairs. _Nothing._

**Will you stop imagining the fat man rolling down stairs and _help me!_**

He'd always thought having a family was one of the things he'd wanted most of all. He now decided that he'd been woefully misinformed on the subject, and that familial duty was one of the greatest burdens upon mankind. Hence his decision to decapitate Mother when he found her, possibly drop-kick her, and then find the nearest pair of scissors and get rid of his hair before it got rid of him first. He gave it a mistrustful glare, before stalking towards the reactor. He gave that up five minutes out of sight from the town and ran instead, because no matter how menacing it looked, it became simply ridiculous if maintained for long periods of time. He had to stop within sight of the reactor and start stalking again, of course, but all in all, that was a small price to pay for the freedom of running without fear of skewering anyone he shouldn't – he hadn't been able to do that since the Wutai war. He silently thanked genetics for a photographic memory as he entered the reactor. He'd never have been able to get back there otherwise.

**Hurry up! **

'_Decapitation._' He told himself firmly, closing his eyes against the voice he'd allowed into his head. '_Decapitation followed by drop-kicking. This is a small price to pay_.' He couldn't help his heart sinking though, when he realised that in all likelihood if Mother had been dead for the past twenty-five years, it was unlikely further mutilation was going to shut her up. He disembowelled a very stupid man as he made his way further into the reactor, followed by slicing up an even more foolish little girl who'd dared to touch his precious sword – '_My sword! Mine!_' – but it hardly made him feel any better.

"Mother. I'm here." '_Open up now, and I promise I'll wait ten minutes before kicking you into a wall._'

**What took you so long? **

He clamped down viciously on the urge to tell her if she snapped at him one more time he was going to use all the skills in his possession to ensure that however it was that she was still alive, she wouldn't be for much longer. '_Cut hair. Must cut hair. Stay on Mother's good side for long enough to get the scissors. _Then _kill her_.'

**How nice to meet you _at last_. **

"Likewise." He snapped, blithely ignoring the sarcasm, looking at the transgression against nature contained in the glass cell. "You're not really my mother, are you?"

**Insolent brat! I'm your mother, and you'll do as I tell you to do! **

"Oh yes, because you're a fine example of where I get my good looks from."

**Are you being sarcastic? **

"Do you understand the spoken language?"

A welcome distraction from his argument with 'mother' arrived in the form of Zack, at the moment he was five seconds from cutting the thing behind the tubes and glass into tiny little pieces. It was a pity he was just too damn good for it to last very long. It was even more of a pity that he became so distracted by thing-that-claimed-to-be-mother that he didn't notice the trooper with a sword – '_sword? His hair was in serious danger!_'– until it was too late.

Fortunately, the trooper was more concerned with trying – 'trying' being the operative word – to kill him than cutting his hair. Most unfortunately, however, was that due to having the advantage of surprise on his side, the little bastard actually managed to injure him. Injure. _Him_. He was _bleeding_ for god's sake!

… '_I have red blood._' The more flippant part of his mind observed it with fascination, dismissing the trooper's angry, heartfelt words of pain and anguish. It was lucky he didn't much of a heart, otherwise he might have felt a twinge of remorse. Or burst out laughing. Either was bad. One because it would have effectively destroyed his ability to enjoy life, the other because it possibly would have brought the trooper's anger back round onto him, and he hadn't even beheaded The Lying Bitch yet. And yet… it looked like the boy was… _leaving_? Silly boy. Walked out when he should have turned round and killed him. Did he just forget he was lying here? Then again… well, he _was_ blond. He staggered upright – the Masamune was far too long to use as a means of support – and turned round to face the alien face behind the glass.

They exchanged glares. And more violent words of condemnation, sharpening their verbal barbs on each other. He smiled suddenly, and was very pleased when Jenova stopped mid-sentence. "How will I get you out of here, hm?" He mused aloud, watching her varying expressions with a savage joy. "You're far too big for me to carry… And after all, your head is the most important part, is it not?"

**Don't you dare! **

"Surely you can 'live' without your head? You're not human, after all…"

**Sephiroth, don't you even _think_ about– **

Silence, even if it was only a few seconds worth, really was golden, he decided, limping down the steps with Jenova's head swinging jauntily by its hair.

**You little– **

"Just like you…" He snarled at the head – though he had the funny feeling the supposedly male blue-eyed blond thought the words were aimed at him – '_to keep on talking while detached from a pair of lungs_.'

"Sephiroth!" He stopped mid-step again – this time remembering to draw his foot back and stand upright – listening to the running with a sigh. '_Idiot. What on earth has Zack been teaching you? Never give your opponent warning._' It looked like another demonstration of his magnificence and indescribable skill with a sword was in order. It was a pity, really. He'd rather liked the boy. He certainly brightened up the room, anyway. He meant that literally, of course – with that hair, Sephiroth was certain the mother could have fostered him with chocobos and they wouldn't have noticed the difference.

"Don't… push your luck." '_Like I've said before. Nobody gets within five feet of my hair._' He had to wonder if it was delayed reaction or a sheer inability to comprehend the situation that kept Chocobo Head from screaming. Everyone else he'd ever skewered – and there had been a lot of people over the years – usually managed a blood-curdling scream of agony before dropping to their knees, sliding off the sword – sometimes that took a while, if they'd been deeply impaled – and then keeling over. Here again, Chocobo Head decided to confound his expectations. Instead of keeling over and dying like a good little boy, he used the sword as leverage to throw _him_ into the reactor's mako reservoir.

He promised himself solemnly that when he got out of here, (after destroying Mother and cutting his hair, of course) Chocobo Head was going to be reacquainted with the Masamune, and next time he would not be breathing at the end of the encounter, no matter how laboured that breathing might be. He then realised that perhaps he would be unable to keep the engagement, as he had the odd feeling that no one had ever survived such an experience as he seemed to be heading towards.

**Oh **_shit. _


	4. Sephiroth Says

After five years, two months, seventeen days, eight hours, thirty-six minutes and twenty-four seconds, Sephiroth was Resigned.

He'd staved off boredom for a while arguing with his darling mother, but as it had gradually become clearer and clearer that he couldn't leave this place without her help – she after all, had a body on the Outside, even if it's head _was_ missing – he'd tactfully withdrawn into a sullen and bitter silence. As time had progressed – he was aware of this fact because the ticking of his watch counting out every wasted second was slowly driving him insane – he learnt to ignore the things that told him plainly that he was in all likelihood, one dead legendary ex-General and madman. Little, subtle things like the fact he had no pulse or that his heart wasn't beating.

If there was one thing he enjoyed about this, though, it was the silence. Or near silence, because his watch was both rather insistent, and rather loud. It gave him time to perfect his melancholic introspection and look of quiet despair. It also meant he spent long periods of time wandering the immense and lonely halls of his own memory palace (c/o Hannibal Lecter). His favourite memory, he'd discovered, was one of SOLDIER. That was not a huge surprise. Having spent almost half his life there – that was not including the time after his little megalomaniac episode – it would have been more astonishing if his happiest memory had occurred before that point.

In particular, the memory was of a rather satirically titled game based around the saying, "When Sephiroth tells you to 'jump', you ask 'when, where, and how high?'" A rite of passage for all new recruits since it's inception following the Wutai war, 'Sephiroth Says' had been his favourite form of entertainment. It was also good for an ego trip. Best of all, as his name was invoked in the dare itself, it was impossible to be used to tell a recruit to... say, tie his hair in a bow round his neck. That had actually been attempted by some poor mentally deficient recruit way back when Sephiroth had been new to the post of General. He'd used some... imaginative techniques to get the confession out of him, but it had been worth it in the end.

"Sephiroth says 'roll over'" was still one of his favourites, and still reduced him to hysterics whenever he recalled the trooper's pathetically confused face, but his most cherished memory of all the 'Sephiroth Says' games had been when Zack had finally taken the designation of 'Sephiroth' for a group of newbies seven years ago. He'd been anticipating the moment eagerly for years, and Zack had not disappointed him. He'd told one to tape a 'kick me' sign to Tseng's back – the unfortunate recruit had been buried with full honours – another was told to put a 'fuck me' sign on Scarlet's back (personally, he thought the dress was as good, if not better, at saying _that_) and another had to pour paint on Heidegger's head during the Welcoming Ceremony. Ah, sweet memories.

It had come to an end, of course. After one of the designated 'Sephiroths' told one group of cadets to jump off a cliff – which they dutifully did – he'd been forced to ban his favourite ego trip. Its loss had put him in a draconian temper for a month, by the end of which, SOLDIER had lost eleven percent of its total force. Still, he supposed the incident proved one thing – the 'military' and 'intelligence' really were two mutually exclusive things.

**Sephiroth**.

"Are we leaving?" He had long ago forgotten to question just how he could talk aloud without moving a single voluntary – or involuntary, come to think of it – muscle in his body, and had put it down to one of those few things that left him as blindsided as everyone else.

**… in a manner of speaking.**

"I don't understand. How can we be leaving 'in a manner of speaking?" He demanded, projecting violent images of Jenova's eventual death if she lied to him.

**It appears Hojo has actually come up trumps.**

"For once." He muttered to himself resentfully, still smarting from the last time he'd seen Hojo in the lab – and the bastard had still been alive at the end of it. What that meant was that Hojo had run like the greasy little rat that he was, and he'd had the Masamune forcibly removed from him by several orderlies built like mountains stamping repeatedly on his long, elegant fingers.

**You can't move your own body, but you could take control of one of your Clones.**

"Clones? I have clones?" Some evil ideas were forming in his head, but he dismissed them in order to concentrate on the big picture, which was his pretty, too-long, silver hair. "How does that work anyway?"

**…**

"You don't know, do you?"

**…** **no. But it _will _work.**

"Excuse me while I applaud your fantastic research of the situation. How can you be sure?"

**If you weren't such a logical bastard, you'd have accepted this a long time ago and you could have set me free earlier.**

"You insisted I wait until the 'puppet' was ready. This is _your_ fault."

**I'm glad I insisted on having the Puppet as a back up plan. You are useless!**

"Oh, it stings. I'm mortally wounded by your barbs." Had he had any control over his own body, he probably would have placed one hand to his forehead in a theatrical gesture, but as he didn't, he settled for putting as much vitriol into his voice as possible. As Sephiroth had been perfecting his sarcasm from an early age, this made it withering enough to strip paint.

**Do you want out of here or not?**

"Now we're getting somewhere. Tell me what to do. I want out. Now."

* * *

It wasn't so bad, only being able to see the world by controlling a 'Clone' (Jenova had insisted most strenuously upon the differences between a 'clone' and a 'Clone' and Sephiroth thought it prudent not to anger her at the moment). As much as he hated to admit Hojo had actually got something right, the Clones were near enough perfect replicas. Or the one he used was, anyway. He had his doubts that Hojo could repeat this one stroke of brilliance, so he assumed the others were substandard. True, it felt... confining, as if he wore a set of clothes far too tight – although he was rather used to that feeling as he always seemed to end up with trousers just a size too small, one reason he'd got Zack to start a one-man campaign against the laundry staff – but it was easy enough to force the shattered remnants of the previous occupant 's mind aside and take complete control. And being Clones, they could do all sorts of impossible things, such as fly, and teleport, and telepathy. Confined to the Clones, unfortunately, but then again... he'd rather not know what went on in Scarlet's head. The others were extremely useful, though, he decided as he instantly appeared in the Shinra HQ on the 66th floor. SOLDIER or no, he'd always hated having to take the stairs when the lifts broke down (which was often, and many, and always when he had a meeting it was absolutely compulsory for him to attend).

Jenova had made no mention of what to do with the staff on the graveyard shift, so Sephiroth decided to take the initiative and test to see if he still had the Slaughtering Factor. He could have just knocked them out and tied them up, of course, but blood was _such_ a _pretty_ colour, and anyway, it was just so much easier. He was rather disappointed with himself though - one of them had almost had enough time to yelp 'hel-' God, his skills must have deteriorated more than he thought.

"Hello, Mother." He said as cheerfully as he could manage in the situation, which was facing the being responsible for his own premature death, who he had hoped – vainly, it seemed – never to see again. "Ready to be reunited with your head?"

**You should have brought it with you. **

"You don't even need it, do you? You're talking to me right now without it!"

**That's not the point! Pick me up.**

"..." He made a half-hearted attempt to back away, but Jenova, it seemed, was as well-versed in mental torture as he was in physical. With a sigh of disgust, he heaved the pulsating mass onto his back, informing her - after many curses - that she seriously needed to lose a lot of weight. He wrinkled his nose fastidiously in disgust at having to be anywhere remotely near Jenova, coated as she was in pus, blood, and assorted viscous bodily fluids that he simply did _not_ want to know about. Worst of all, they were dripping down his coat, which was making a blood-trail across the floor. _'My coat…!'_ If he had been absolutely anyone else, the little voice in the back of his head would have been classed as a wail or even a whine, but as he was _Sephiroth_, it was a genuine complaint. Staggering under an unholy weight never meant to be carried, let alone on someone's _back_, he reeled into the wall several times while heading towards the Specimen lift.

**Wait! Don't forget the Puppet. He's in the middle cell.**

"If he can't escape on his own, he's not much use, is he?" He was now wishing that he had the real Masamune with him and could cut her –literally – down to size.

**He's going to escape because _you _are going to help! Now get to it!**

"Yes, _Mother_." _'Yes, Mother, No mother, would you like me to jump off a cliff, Mother?' _With yet another sigh – this one of frustration – he dropped her unceremoniously on top of the corpse of the recently deceased guard, fishing through the keys and picking out exactly the key needed (one of his unique talents of which he'd only just begun to appreciate). He stopped abruptly at the entrance of the cell, looking at its occupants, before backing away sharply into the hallway so that he could resort to helpless laughter without waking them. '_Chocobo Head is the Puppet? My Puppet? This was going to be _fun!' The pros, he decided, had suddenly begun to outweigh the cons of his situation. He realised just how badly his mind seemed to have cracked during his five-year absence from the land of the living when he noted through his tears of laughter that he was leaning against the wall, giggling insanely.

He hadn't laughed like this since... since Zack had gone storming through the HQ armed with meatballs. Say what you wanted to about Zack's (nonexistent) skills on the shooting range, armed with meatballs and with Shinra Executives as targets, he had an accuracy of aim unparalleled. He'd actually offered Zack a ridiculous amount of money to disrupt the board meeting, but Zack had taken it as an insult to his pride, announcing that he had a reputation to maintain, and he shouldn't need money as an incentive to keep it. He'd promptly topped Sephiroth's original orders by returning shortly after the meatball-throwing incident with a heavy vat of an indiscriminate meat stew (put to a far better use as a weapon of war rather than food, in Sephiroth's opinion) and a large paintbrush. In all the disruption, no one had noticed Sephiroth leaving to return with several large wolfhounds he and Zack had previously kept in the library prior to the execution of Operation Meatball.

Even then, though, he hadn't been reduced to _giggling_. Something was seriously wrong, he decided, and as soon as he could stand up straight, his ribs stopped aching, and he stopped choking, he'd find out exactly what it was. Gasping for breath, he willed himself to calm, and looked back into the cell, determined to remind himself of the boy he'd solemnly sworn he'd kill (the only person in all the world Sephiroth had made such a promise for who _wasn't_ a Shinra executive who considered him or herself his superior). Still Chocobo Headed (clearly he had not heard of scissors, poor boy), still short (as far as he could tell, the boy sleeping as he was in the abominably uncomfortable-looking position he'd assumed), and probably still with those accursed piercing blue eyes. He prodded Chocobo Head quietly, snickering as he batted him away and mumbled something about cheese, knife-wielding moogles, and not being a morning person.

"Clllloooouuuddd…" The sleepy whine came from somewhere behind him, and he jerked back sharply, long legs tangling in their attempt to force him from a squatting to a standing position, to make him hit the floor abruptly with a curse.

"I thought I killed her…?" He muttered to himself, frowning to himself in disapproval, the effect of which was only slightly marred by the fact that he was sprawled on his posterior on the floor, legs splayed, totally undignified for once in his life. His killing skills were definitely declining. Usually the people he wanted dead tended to _stay_ dead.

He stormed out as silently as possible, muttering dark promises to Whiny Girl as to her imminent demise. He stopped short as he realised he could see Jenova slithering – the correct word would have been pacing, but as Jenova didn't appear to have any feet, this was clearly not accurate – backwards and forwards in front of the guard's corpse.

"You _can_ move on your own! You-" A tentacle lashed out unerringly towards his face, and afraid for his money-earning features, he cut off the curse and moved back hastily.

"..."

**…**

"..." He seemed to have lost all his eloquence, and all he could think of was that when he finally got Jenova Mother-Bitch to wherever the Nine Hells they were going, she was clearly going to die. In the most painful way possible.

**The President. He opposes our way to Godhood.**

"_Our_ way? I thought it was meant to be _my_ Godhood?" The abrupt change in topic didn't fool him for a moment, but what she was saying was what he'd been waiting to hear since he was ten years old. The thought of finally, _finally_ killing the fat man had erased all anger. He was actually salivating at the idea.

"What are you waiting for?" He demanded impatiently. "Let's go!"

**…**

"You can move on your own! Do it!"

**Surely you want to get to the President as quickly as possible, don't you? You won't want to wait while I follow you. For obvious reasons, I'm not a sprinter.**

"Or a long distance runner." Scowling, he obligingly heaved her on to his back. "When we get to wherever the Hell you're aiming for –"

**The Crater in the North.**

" –I swear I will find a way to kill you."

**Of course.**


	5. Why Jenova Hates the Seaside

It might have been days or weeks since he'd left Midgar as far as Sephiroth was concerned. All he was aware of at present was that he was on a ship, and facing three blurry shapes he assumed were either members of the ship's crew somehow still alive, or they were Chocobo Head and his team.

"...Who are you?" The point of the question wasn't actually to remind whoever it was that was speaking that they were beneath notice, although that was often the reason behind his use of those words, particularly when Shinra officials tried to talk to him. The point was actually that the world was rather oddly hazy in Sephiroth's eyes, and all he could see of the person was a blurred halo of bright yellow, and smudges of even brighter blue in the centre of it.

"You don't remember me? I'm Cloud!"

"Cloud..." He repeated, dazed by the revelation that Chocobo Head (that was who he assumed it was anyway) actually had... a _name_. And what a weird name. He looked nothing like a cloud. Summer clouds (Sephiroth assumed that the logical conclusion to be drawn from his colouring and chocobo-ness was that he belonged to summer) were soft and fluffy and white. And there was nothing very soft and fluffy about Chocobo Head usually. Although he _was_ very blurry at the moment, and would have been a rather endearing pastel picture. But anyway. Chocobo Head was a far better name for him in Sephiroth's opinion, and as Sephiroth was automatically right about these things, he decided that he would continue to refer to him that way privately.

"Sephiroth! What are you thinking? What are you doing?"

He was sorely tempted to ask Chocobo Head exactly what on earth he thought _he_ was doing, and what the hell he was so upset about, but unfortunately, he wasn't quite capable of forcing the words out.

"...The time... is now..."

Had Sephiroth been sober, he would never have resorted to such dialogue. Unfortunately, he was _not_ sober, having spent the past week drinking himself into a stupor to celebrate President Shinra's shuffling (or rather, violent push) off the mortal coil and into the arms of Madam Death. He was suffering the worst hangover of his life (the only hangover, now that he thought about it) and simply wasn't in the right state of mind to inform Chocobo Head of... whatever it was he was supposed to be informing him of. That he was feeling the effects of the alcohol in the first place was a sure indication of just how strong, and how much of it he'd imbibed. He actually thought (hazily, true, but at least it was thinking) that he had more alcohol than blood in his veins at the moment.

He'd only fought the Midgar Zolom because he was drunk. Any other time he would have ignored it, but the blasted thing kept getting in his way, snapping at him, and generally asking for a fight. After all, there he'd been, walking (alright, stumbling and weaving) along, minding his own business, when the damn thing tried to bite his leg off. Of course, if he hadn't been drunk, the snake wouldn't have gotten anywhere near as close, but he adamantly refused to accept that he may have actually staggered right in to it. At the time, he was certain he'd heard a voice say something along the lines of 'C'mon, 'ave a go, if you think yer 'ard enough' in a strong, mock-Slums accent, but was forced to admit in retrospect that it might have come from the pink elephant he'd been seeing since he downed that last tequila.

But anyway, that was beside the point. The point was, the snake had been begging for a fight. And of course, being drunk, he'd obliged. It probably hadn't been necessary to skewer it on tree after it's death though. He was regretting that – not because it was unnecessarily extravagant (he preferred understated elegance, really) but because it had taken him hours to do, and he'd torn his coat.

**Time to leave.**

Sephiroth was sober enough to remember how to make an exit, but far too drunk to be able to actually pull it off. It was good for Chocobo Head's reflexes however, as he had to move fast to avoid being hit by an erratic flying Sephiroth.

It took him ten minutes instead of the usual 2.5 seconds to realise he'd reappeared in Costa Del Sol, and twice as long to notice Jenova was missing something (well who the hell had time to count the tentacles? Except maybe Hojo, and that was just... a topic best left buried). Sephiroth wasn't quite sure that he couldn't have done this the moment he left Midgar, but told himself that if he had, a) Chocobo Head wouldn't have had a trail to follow (not that he followed it particularly well) and b) he wouldn't have been able to continue celebrating Shinra's death along the way.

"Mother... you... appear to have left a... tentacle behind..." The words took far longer than they should have to say, as Sephiroth was carefully articulating each word in a bid to prevent slurring and sound sober.

**I know. And you don't need to try and pretend you're not drunk. I know perfectly well you are.**

"Me? Drunk?" He tried for an injured tone of voice, but he wasn't in the best of conditions to try it, and anyway, he'd only ever been good at two tones of voice: "Get out of my way, you're pissing me off and will soon die" and "I'm only doing this to avoid the paperwork." Both were excellent for making people void their bladders, but useless in most other situations. Not that there were actually many in which he'd ever _needed _to sound contrite. "Can't get drunk. Mako en… enhancc… Mako." He promptly belied these words by staggering into a low wall. Jenova made a snorting sound that might have been amusement, might have been a sniff of disapproval.

**I left the tentacle behind for a reason. It became an opponent to distract the Puppet.**

It was a tribute to Sephiroth's drunkenness that he didn't think to question this. He was far more preoccupied with standing upright, smoothing out his ruffled appearance, and walking in a reasonably straight line towards the beach.

**It's too hot. I'm drying up.**

Sephiroth determinedly ignored the urge to turn around and look (it would upset his precarious balance) but couldn't stop the shudder of disgust at the thought of dried up and shrivelling Jenova falling to pieces.

**Is that… Hojo?**

Sephiroth whipped his head round sharply, resulting in both a renewal of his headache, and in him falling over. He attempted to stumble towards his target in a fairly sober manner, and found himself staring down at someone who was currently just below Chocobo Head on his 'To-Die' List. Which he would have to alter, he decided, pulling it out of his pocket and striking through various names: President Shinra (carefully replaced with 'Chocobo Head, aka, 'Cloud'), Anonymous Cannon Fodder 156739 – 156893 (replaced variously with 'Whiny Girl Who Tried To Steal MY Sword' and other members of Chocobo Head's team) and his secretary. After a moment's drunken searching, he finally found Zack's name and carefully struck it off with a nostalgic sigh. While Zack had always been a near permanent fixture on his 'To-Die' list, he'd always managed to redeem himself by helping Sephiroth with his eternal quest of sending all Shinra employees insane. Hojo, Sephiroth decided, was now fourth, below Chocobo Head, Rufus and Scarlet.

He blinked.

There was something he was supposed to do in this situation... something involving swords and torture and lots and lots of blood, but he couldn't for the life of him find his way out of his drunken haze and realise it.

"...Hojo...?"

"Yes?"

"..." Had he been Zack, he might have scratched the back of his head, or shrugged. But he was Sephiroth, and he didn't 'do' confusion. So he settled for asking what exactly Hojo was doing on the beach. The answer - "sunbathing, of course" - was far from satisfactory, but Sephiroth was still in a state of shock from seeing Hojo in an environment that didn't contain scalpels, hypodermics or holding cells.

"...please don't touch my coat." He carefully removed one woman's hand from where it seemed to have sneaked inside his coat and was diligently trying to remove it one-handed while copping as much of a feel as possible. Looking at the bikini-clad women who seemed to have appeared out of thin air to cling to him, an idea (he was more surprised at its appearance than those of the women, but nonetheless) seemed to form. "...Ladies, would you mind ensuring this... being..." – He gestured vaguely to Hojo, who was watching with beady little rat eyes alight with anticipation – "...does not leave the beach?"

**ETA for the Puppet is an hour.**

"For the next three hours?"

**...why three?**

'_You know how easily the chocobo gets distracted in a new environment._'

Money, Sephiroth knew, was power. It could make people do terrible things, money, if there was enough of it.

And no, he had absolutely no idea why he should carry so much around in his pockets.

"..." Loath as he was to admit it, Chocobo Head needed a pointer (one thing Sephiroth had discovered about his Puppet was that he was prone get distracted and wander off unless the strings were yanked sharply). "...Hojo, when the Ch- the Puppet gets here, tell him I'm heading west."

"Will do, my boy." The incongruous sight of Hojo surrounded by beautiful women was making Sephiroth's head swim, so he turned sharply on his heel to rescue Jenova from the water (she'd been running... _slithering_ away from the waves and one of them had finally caught her). Her screams had all the force of a pneumatic drill inside his head.

**It burns! It bu-u-urns!**

"..." '_Why me?_'


	6. The Freak in a Speedo

Sephiroth, after the Costa Del Sol fiasco, had decided to take a break. And since the beach was out of the question, what with Jenova tearfully asserting that saltwater **burns! Burns like acid! **the only other option was obviously the Gold Saucer. Much more fun, anyway. After all, it had chocobo races, gambling, bright lights, a place where he could kill indiscriminately without reprimand, and there was no blasted sand that got into all conceivable (and a few inconceivable) places.

As to why, then, he was currently safely ensconced between two sleeping chocobos behind the scenery in the Event Square, he had no idea. It could have been worse, he supposed. The moogle suits itched like crazy, and the birds only became dangerous when they had nightmares. He was, however, taking advantage of the momentary lull in his round-the-world-trip to actually plan exactly what he was doing. Having quickly discovered that his favourite chocobo (alright... _Cloud_) needed to be reassured every few miles along the road that he was, in fact, following the right path, that the bastard who had killed his mommy and burned his precious peasant village, was, in fact, still ahead of him, Sephiroth was meticulously going over the pros and cons of each main town as a resting place to remind Chocobo Head of the main plot.

Which Sephiroth himself wasn't quite sure of, but in any case, until Sephiroth got his scissors and the number of the best hairdress- _barber _in the world, he was still under Jenova's thrall (much better word than 'command' -'command' to Sephiroth had always implied military, and military was logical. Sometimes. Jenova was not).

Gongaga was far too insignificant to stop at, and being surrounded by forest, there was always the possibility Chocobo Head would miss it. A small possibility, but with a blond, Sephiroth could afford to take no chances. Anyway, it had no real connection to Chocobo Head, and Sephiroth had determined that only places of great significance (either to the Chocobo Head or to Jenova) were the only times he was deigning (an even better word) to appear personally at. He left plenty of messages along the way, the little schizophrenic could follow the clues. Even he wasn't _that_ stupid. In fact, Sephiroth had been quite certain that before the Nibelheim incident, the boy had possessed a few brain cells, even if he used them rarely. That was still a damn sight more often than Zack, who had only put his brain to use in the confection of elaborate pranks. Probably Hojo had managed to remove them during his elaborate torture in the name of science, which only made Jenova's job easier. It made for a very bored, and very exasperated Sephiroth however, who had to do the hard work of transporting Jenova, ensuring the other Clones followed, arranging the blond's clues, reminding the boy often that he was following _him_, not on a Round-The-World pleasure trip, and making sure that the boy didn't wander off (_much_ harder than it sounded).

Was there a word, Sephiroth wondered absently, for someone who guides you on a journey, ensures you take the right path, protects you throughout until you reach your final goal? He had a terrible feeling that there was, and that it was closer to 'guardian' than to 'your eventual killer'.

**Are you doubting my wisdom again?**

"Whatever made you think I trusted your 'wisdom' in the first place?" He muttered, but for the most part ignored her, carefully studying the World Map he'd managed to buy from some idiot back in Kalm.

Cosmo Canyon was not the place either. For reasons Sephiroth couldn't quite discern, Jenova adamantly refused to stop there. No big loss, only two main towns for the Chocobo Head to get lost at while Sephiroth waited at Nibelheim. The rebuilt Nibelheim, of course, which ought to be very useful in twisting Chocobo Head's mind inside out. He carefully placed a cross (complete with little skull) over the town's name on the World Map (known to scholars of obscure myths and legends as an 'atlas').

All in all, Sephiroth, having died, come back, and found himself in the unenviable position of having to guard a slightly psychotic blond boy who had somehow killed him first time around, all so that the boy would do the 'hard work' for him, was due a break. And with Sephiroth, having a break in the Gold Saucer meant only one thing.

Battle Square.

* * *

Sephiroth was horrified. Not by the rapidly vanishing visceral carnage left by some insane gunman's rampage of the Battle Square. He was totally inured of such sights, having orchestrated many of them himself. No, he was horrified for a totally different reason: Battle Square was run by a freak in a Speedo. Or maybe it wasn't a Speedo. He just didn't want to look too closely. Could his day get any worse? First Chocobo Head being enough of an idiot to get thrown into Corel prison, now this. He could feel his inner maniac wailing.

He was almost to the point of putting his souvenir-stealers dagger into the man's throat (suicide would have been unnecessary, wasteful, and a great loss to the world). Honestly, the man had biceps as large as Sephiroth's thigh, and he still acted like a star struck recruit, stumbling over words, grinning foolishly, and generally making a total ass of himself. ...Not that making an ass of himself seemed a particularly difficult task for the man, given his fashion sense. But anyway. The idiot had even asked for a _photo_. It had taken actual physical effort not to tell him with an Evil Smile (upgraded 1.5 version) that the last person to ask him that question had been neatly sliced and diced, and had then become part of a mass barbecue.

He'd only wanted to hit the Battle Square while Chocobo Head was incarcerated. Was that really too much to ask?

There were some ways to turn the situation to his advantage, he realised, as his wandering mind caught part of Freak in a Speedo's rambling about the Prison system and the chance to leave by 'going up' and winning a Chocobo race. There was even a new prisoner already demanding to 'go up'.

Was he a blond? Had a hairstyle that gave him an uncanny resemblance to a chocobo?

Affirmative.

Sephiroth didn't need Jenova's urging. He informed the man that in return for this photograph, he wanted the blond to 'go up'. If he lost the Chocobo Race (which Sephiroth highly doubted – the boy and bird were bound to work well together, being close relations and all) he was to try again until he won. Even if it took all week. Or Sephiroth had to drug the other racers' chocobos. Whichever came first.

And if Mr… Dio could provide transport for the Chocobo Head upon his release, Sephiroth would even sign the damn photograph the next time he was around. He was sick of having to stop in his quest for a pair of scissor- er… world domination… waiting for Chocobo Head to catch up.

The price was high, Sephiroth reflected, as he allowed the photo to be taken, but it would be worth it to make sure he didn't have to wait weeks while Chocobo Head explored every damn nook, cranny and worthless town on the planet.

If Freak in a Speedo thought it odd that the Great Sephiroth carried around a gelatinous mass he sometimes referred to as 'Mother', or that he was willing to do stupid things to secure the freedom of a blond, he was evidently so happy with getting a photo he didn't care.

With the necessary arrangements for Chocobo Head out of the way, he was free to indulge. Tossing the woman at the counter a smile guaranteed to turn any female into a metaphorical puddle of goo (as opposed to real puddle of goo, as Jenova was rapidly disintegrating into), he ignored the request for GP and walked into the arena.

Eight rounds (aka eight minutes) later, he finally gave in to Jenova's whining that the cleaning crew was attempting to clear her away with the rest of the bodies. "This one belongs to me." He said politely, carefully picking out the pieces of Jenova from the mess of bodies and bullets.

**They wanted to put me in a morgue! With dead bodies! Me! The Goddess of this worthless spinning ball of trash!**

"Pull yourself together, Mother." He snapped, ignoring the open-mouthed (but thankfully, not suicidal enough to talk) cleaning crew.

"Chocobo Head won yet?" He asked her, pulling some super glue out of one of his pockets (well, who knew just what he might find useful) and attempting to glue all the important appendages back on to the main gelatinous mass. She was silent for a moment, presumably checking on Chocobo Head via the Jenova cell connection. Which he still couldn't understand, but no matter, it worked.

**…n-Yes.**

He sighed. The one time he wouldn't have minded Chocobo Head being so easily distracted.

"Time to go then. Where are we going again, Mother of mine?"

**Nibelheim. Call the other Clones. And no booze.**

"…bitch." Slinging her onto his back, he called back to Dio, who was laboriously spelling out word for word his note, "Don't forget to tell him I'm heading South past Gongaga. S-o-u-t-h."


	7. Mother Chocobo

Sephiroth had been waiting in the basement of the Shinra mansion for the past week. And safe to say, he was _not_ in a good mood. He was sober, he STILL had no scissors, he was caffeine-free, he had no hairbrush, and there was nothing worthy of his time to kill. He was so exasperated with Chocobo Head (or 'Cllooouuuddd' as Whiny Girl frequently called him) that at one point he'd taken a pen and drawn pretty little pictures on the wall of all the ways he could kill the little bastard. They provided a nice contrast to his original pink scrawlings on the wall, he thought.

He was beginning to wonder if he should have just marked the path Chocobo Head was supposed to follow in lime, with a giant arrow pointing in the direction he was supposed to go, but then thought that even that wouldn't have been enough. After intense deliberation, he'd come to the conclusion that there were three possible reasons behind Chocobo Head's lack of concentration:

1) His head consisted of more hair than brains

2) He'd been lobotomized at some point during his 'puppetisation' by Hojo

3) It was a side effect of being a natural blond.

Or maybe it was a combination of all three...

He scowled. Nibelheim. God, he _hated_ Nibelheim. Even more than he hated Hojo, even more than he wanted to cut his hair, he hated Nibelheim, and that was saying something. Looking at his watch for the nine hundred and eighty fifth time since he'd entered, he left the lab to pace the hallway.

"What's in there?" He asked suddenly, curious as to why he'd never noticed the _other_ basement door before.

**Nothing! **

Jenova's hasty retort convinced Sephiroth of two things. One, whatever was behind that door was important, and two, that it probably had something to do with him.

"Are there scissors in there?"

**For god's sake! Why are you so bloody obsessed with scissors?! **

"You know perfectly well why I'm obsessed with scissors!"

**And I think it's stupid! Your hair is bloody perfect! Perfect!**

"Et tu, Mother? You traitor! That's it! You're being dropped off in the North, and if I miss Chocobo Head's arrival because of you I'll –"

**Kill me? I'd like to see you try!**

"Oh yeah?"

"Ahem."

Both Sephiroth and Jenova froze. The voice sounded vaguely reminiscent of Sephiroth's own, but Sephiroth personally doubted he'd ever managed to sound so mellow and detached at the same time. In any case, it seemed to be coming from behind the locked door, and unless Sephiroth had found a hidden talent for ventriloquism, it had to be from whoever was behind the door.

"Excuse me, but you're disturbing my rest," the nearly-but-not-quite-Sephiroth voice continued calmly, unwaveringly polite. "Please, continue your bickering elsewhere."

"…Of course. I apologise."

**…Speak for yourself.**

"Shut up Mother."

There was a sigh from behind the door. Sephiroth had an innate sense for danger, and the sigh told him both that its owner was getting angry, and that Sephiroth would not like to see the consequences of him being angry. He moved slightly faster than his normal pace back to the lab.

* * *

"Fourteen down. Seven letters. 'One obsessed with themselves'." 

**Hojo.**

"_Seven_ letters, Mother."

**Doc Hojo.**

He sighed and put the crossword aside. "How long have we been waiting here now?" There was the mental equivalent of a shrug from Jenova (no longer capable of the smallest physical movement without _something_ falling off). "There are only two main towns along the way here." He persisted, beginning to pace nervously. "How the _hell _could he get lost?"

**Fairly easily. You've seen the Clones.**

He had. After telling them all that he would be waiting in the mansion for their 'brother' without the black cloak, and not to approach him unless they wished to die or had a pair of scissors, he understood completely what Jenova meant when she said they could get lost in a paper bag.

"But he's not really a Clone. … Should we look for him?"

**Stop fretting. With all that clucking and fussing you sound like a mother chocobo.**

It had the desired effect. Sephiroth stopped instantly, mute with rage. Hissing was not generally one of the vocal expressions of anger associated with Sephiroth (it was usually something more masculine, like a growl, or a snarl). However, neither was the chocobo one Sephiroth's patron animals. And the sound Sephiroth made as he grabbed the newspaper with the half-finished crossword and flung it in Jenova's general direction (a pity that having not been screwed up it only fluttered uselessly) was undoubtedly a hiss.

**… wark.**

"Shut up. Do you want to wake the vampire in the room down the hall?"

**How do you know he's a vampire?**

"Didn't you say he was sleeping in a coffin? Besides, anyone who voluntarily sleeps in this place – in the basement, no less – has got to be a vampire." He began searching absently through the books, studiously ignoring the faces he could feel Jenova making in the back of his head. The chocobo noises were a little harder to ignore. He could actually feel a muscle behind his eye twitching as he eased a heavy book of the shelf with the intention of throwing it at her. He reassessed this course of action when he realised with mild curiosity that it was about ritual mutilation.

"Interesting…" he muttered, carefully highlighting a passage on an ancient Nibel sacrificial custom known as the Bloody Eagle.

**What is?**

"Stay in the fridge, Mother. You might stay in one piece a little longer."

**What's interesting?**

"That the self-proclaimed Goddess of this planet whines more than a toddler with toothache."

**I do not! What's interesting? Tell me! **

There went that eye muscle again.

"Here!" He wrenched the door open, shoved the book into her arms (a description that was a tad more literal than he would have liked) before slamming it shut again.

"What _now_?" He demanded, as quiet snuffling noises originating from the fridge came to his attention.

**…I can't read. **

* * *

Sephiroth badly wanted alcohol. However, as he had learnt from the moment his memory was good enough to recall the previous day's mako injection and how much it hurt, what he wanted, and he ended up doing were all too often two totally different things. So, instead of drinking himself into oblivion, or at the very least, a state of deep melancholia (he doubted there was enough liquor in the Nibel region to render him totally drunk) he ended up stitching Jenova back together (after the first unsuccessful attempts with staples and sellotape). In the process of which, he discovered a hidden talent for embroidery (as evidenced by the 'Sephiroth Rules' stitched into Jenova's back). Realising this, an overwhelming panic had come over him. It was only a matter of time before he was totally domesticated – cooking, cleaning, washing up… In a desperate bid to avoid (or at least ignore) the inevitable, he was reading up anatomy, and carefully stabbing the page with a pen in the places he'd most like to hit Chocobo Head with a well-aimed book. 

**Speak of the devil…**

"He's here?" It took all Sephiroth's phenomenal self-control not to give in to his desires and grab the sword and cut the blond up into so much dog food.

**He's talking to the vampire.**

"He _what?!_ I've been waiting here for God knows how long, and he stops and talks to a random vampire?!"

**He _is_ talking about you though.**

"I don't give a damn, he's supposed to come here immediately! And hasn't anyone taught him never to talk to strangers?!"

**Wark.**

"SHUT UP!"

"Sephiroth!"

'_Oh, about damn time!_' He carefully ignored the blond, knowing that if he turned round completely and faced him, he'd throw a materia at him, whether Jenova commanded him to or not. '_Calm. Keep calm. Remember Jenova after the seawater incident? Is this as exasperating?_' Inner Maniac, of course, resolutely declared 'yes', but Sephiroth ignored it.

"Being here brings back memories." Sephiroth remarked absently, having learnt the words by rote. Instead, he eyed the blond out of the corner of his eye, carefully assessing where to aim. '_Head? No, that won't do his intelligence any favours. Groin?_' No, he decided. Not even he was cruel enough to rob Chocobo Head of the chance to procreate (though after that escapade in the Wall Market, he was beginning to doubt that the blond was quite as secure in his sexuality as he believed). More little Chocobo Heads meant more little puppets. And more little puppets meant… a puppet show! Ahem. More chances of finding a decent barber. "Are you going to participate in the Reunion?"

"I don't even know what a Reunion is!" Sephiroth raised an eyebrow in surprise, determinedly crushing the urge to ask if he'd ever heard of dictionary.

"Jenova will be at the Reunion." '_If she can get out of the fridge,_' he added to himself with a wry smirk, which Chocobo Head completely misinterpreted. "Jenova will join the Reunion, becoming a calamity from the skies."

'_Mother, where did you get these lines! For God's sake, have you been reading Evil for Dummies again?'_

**Oh shut up.**

"Jenova, a calamity from the skies? You mean she wasn't an Ancient?!"

The urge to roll his eyes and say 'you're a bright spark, aren't you?' was almost irresistible. Instead, he settled for "...I see. I don't think you have the right to participate." But of course, Sephiroth fully intended to drag the blond there if he had to. "I will go north past Mt. Nibel. If you wish to find out... then follow..."

"...Reunion? Calamity from the skies?"

'_That's it. Repeat it to yourself a couple of times. It will help you remember.' _And now came Sephiroth's favourite part of the conversation. The hitting of the Chocobo Head. Unfortunately, the only weapon he had at hand was a Destruct materia. It was a pity, but it would have to do. It hit the blond with a resounding thump on the chest, dead-centre, to Sephiroth's immense satisfaction. '_Time to exit._'

**Wait! What about me! Don't forget meee!**

**

* * *

**

A/N: This space for rent.

Okay. Necessary apology: ...Yes, it is time to stop with the chocobos. I will endeavour to do so. Some other time.

Shameless promotion: Two words. 'Godsent, Regrettably'. It rocks. And not just because WWL? gets an honourable mention in the intro (although that certainly helps, and gives a warming feeling inside of immense smugness). It genuinely rocks. Tis a pity I didn't think of it first. So many places to go with a SRF, not being confined to in-game dialogue and events. _Sigh_. Reading it, I feel rather... inadequate.


	8. Just a little breakdown

Rufus Shinra was pissed. Not in the staggering, vomiting, walking-into-the-Midgar-Zolom sense that Sephiroth had worked hard to achieve in post Shinra senior death celebration. No, he was pissed in the 'if you speak just once more I will personally see to it that you never breed' manner. Behind his back, Scarlet and Heidegger exchanged glances.

"Sir… Perhaps you should-"

"Perhaps you should shut up!" Rufus' temper, while not quite in the same league as Sephiroth's, was perhaps even more dangerous to cross. After all, the worst Sephiroth could do was kill you. Broken bones would heal eventually, and plastic surgery could do wonders. The embarrassing details Rufus would add to an unsatisfactory employee's personal profile, however, would eliminate any chance of them being employed for anything but the most menial jobs, and any victim was likely to become a social pariah rather than an object of pity. For this reason, Scarlet and Heidegger instantly went silent as Rufus stalked ahead, muttering under his breath of what was going to happen to the unfortunate workmen whose duty it had been to tell him that the Highwind was suffering engine problems and wasn't viable as transport. Most of the suggestions involved very creative uses for the men's standard repair equipment.

Yes, the world was cruel to Rufus Shinra. No Highwind. Heidegger. The helicopter discovered to have had sugar poured in its gas tank (probably Reno, damn him, who was going to _die_). Heidegger. Scarlet so obsessed with the 'Huge Materia' that had so abruptly replaced him in her priorities. Heidegger. Hojo quitting and leaving him in the lurch, the bastard. Having to _walk_ the rest of the way to Rocket Town. Heidegger. And to top it all, Sephiroth.

_Sephiroth_. Of course, the only proof he had of Sephiroth's return was the sword that had been so deeply embedded in the desk (and not to forget, his father's back) that it needed to be cut out. And Palmer's word, but that was extremely suspect. He'd wondered for a moment if the sword was a message to him, but according to Palmer, Sephiroth had been far from willing to leave behind his precious pointy piece of metal. Apparently, he'd spent half an hour trying to wrench the sword from where he'd embedded it, screaming curses to make a sailor blush, and then kicking the President's remains repeatedly, blaming him for being so damn fat. He'd only left it when the headless blob Hojo called Jenova had slapped him with a tentacle, and even then he'd spent minutes clinging to the hilt whimpering 'my precious', before recovering his wits (as best as he was able to, being certifiably insane by anyone's judge of sanity) and declaring that "at least the Chocobo Head will know I'm back". In short, Sephiroth had returned from the dead – the bastard – was more insane than ever, and Rufus didn't like it one bit.

So yes, the world was most definitely on Rufus Shinra's shit list.

* * *

The clearing in the centre of the forest (or rather, the south-east fringes) bordering the Nibel Mountains was silent. Unnaturally silent. But that was easily explained by the man dressed head to toe in black walking (or rather, near-gliding, since Sephiroth never did anything the way an ordinary person did) into it as if he owned it. The effect of preternaturalness was ruined however, by the fact that he was followed by what looked like clumps of discarded offal stitched together that kept slithering headless-neck-first into tree trunks. 

**Slow down! My stitches are coming loose! Seeeppphhhhiii-**

"Shut up, just _shut UP_!" It was clear to even the most casual observer (had there been any) that the man with the long silver hair that kept tangling in his belt was clearly both irate, and close to a nervous breakdown. Sephiroth himself was quite certain of the approaching breakdown, and was searching his many hidden coat pockets desperately for the contraband aspirin. Not that it would actually _do_ anything, should his mind finally snap, but it would at least remove that steady pulse of pain behind his temples. When it became evident that there was none, however, he made a noise something akin to the whimper of a mere mortal, drew his knees up to his chest and began rocking backwards and forwards gently. Had it been possible to untangle one thought from the fractured mess of his mind, it would probably have been something akin to 'Please, kill me now.'

**... Sephiroth?**

It was fortunate for Jenova's remaining limbs that Sephiroth was in a state suspiciously close to catatonia. As it was, he didn't move, despite being poked with a tentacle, and she suffered no damage from his increasingly volatile temper.

Enough was enough. Yes, the boy was long overdue a breakdown, but gods damn it all, not in the middle of her big plan, and not over an aspirin, of all things. As the minutes ticked by with no response, Jenova's desperation reached new heights. After all, she reasoned, the worst he could do was destroy what was left her increasingly worthless body...

**Calamity from the Skies calling Mother Chocobo, do you hear me?**

"_What_ did you call me?!"

**I was just checking to see if you were still alive. You've been staring into space without blinking for the past six minutes.**

"...I have?"

**Yes. I was getting worried.**

"Oh, spare me." Jenova wasn't capable of scowling even when she had a head, but she gave a reasonable mental impression of it. Sephiroth glared back, but as his eyes had an odd glazed look still lingering in them, the effect was somewhat ruined. "What are we doing, anyway?"

**That was a rather abrupt change in topic.**

"Shut up. This travelling." He waved a hand lethargically to indicate the immediate area. "What's it for? What are we actually doing?"

**...drat. He's on to me.**

"'He's on to me'?" While the tone was soft, the narrowed eyes said something entirely different.

**Slip of the tongue, nothing to worry about. If we get going now we - **

"Stay. Right. There." The glare he levelled at Jenova had reduced better men and women than she into gibbering wrecks. As it was, it became evident after few moments that Jenova had made history by becoming the only being, male or female, not to be standing in a puddle after being on the receiving end of The Look. Of course, that might have been because she already closely resembled one.

**we'regoingaftertheblackmateria!**

"The what now?"

**Black Materia. Legend has it that there is a Temple of the Ancients on an island somewhere in the south. The Black Materia is in there. It can wreak destruction, if correctly used.**

"I like the sound of that." Sephiroth remarked absently, wondering if this 'destruction' would be enough to destroy Jenova. "However, that still doesn't answer my question. Wreaking destruction is good, of course, but why do we have to bring the Chocobo Head along for the ride, why are we going to Rocket Town, and why the hell didn't you think to mention this earlier?"

**We need the Keystone to enter the Temple, as we are not Cetra.**

"Oh Mother, I'm disillusioned. I never would have guessed."

**It's held by man somewhere near the Gold Saucer, who has no idea of it's true worth.**

"Then _why_, my esteemed matron, are we going to Rocket Town?"

**Because the Puppet needs transport, yes? As to why he is 'coming along for the ride'... getting the Materia will require a little... sacrifice.**

"Chocobo Head." Sephiroth was quite surprised at the grief he felt at the thought of losing his favourite marionette. He was such _fun_ to mess up, and Sephiroth had found very little to amuse him since Zack's... unfortunate expiration.

**No. We'll use one of the Puppet's team. The Puppet's job isn't over yet.**

"Whiny Girl?" He would not give up hope.

**...Probably not. I'm sorry, but it's more likely they'll get rid of the useless one.**

"The black guy?"

**...No. Probably the giant Mog.**

"Goddammit." Did these people have _no_ sense of what was right and wrong? Mogs were fun! Maybe even more than chocobos! No, no, they were _as _fun. Especially _giant_ Mogs, which were the right size for him to hang on a hook and use as a punching bag.

**In any case, the Puppet will need more than a buggy to reach the island.**

"I...see." He didn't, but Sephiroth prided himself on his intellect in a world of idiots and incompetents, and it had never let him down yet. Studying the Rocket in the distance, the light flooded on.

"I see!" He grabbed and unfolded the immensely simplified World Map. "If the Temple of the Ancients is approximately... here-" he jabbed at the map with a finger, cursing as he tore it. "It will need either a boat or a plane to reach it, correct? Helicopters like the one Rufus uses don't carry enough fuel to make it there... _and _back. If I'm not mistaken - and I'm not - Rocket Town is the place of work – or unwilling retirement, if you prefer – of Cid Highwind... who still owns the plane 'Tiny Bronco', yes?"

**...yes?**

"Shinra evidently didn't feel the Bronco was worth taking. So if Chocobo Head steals the plane..."

**You, my boy, are a genius.**

"Why, thank you. It's about time someone appreciated it. Come along, Mother." When he judged them both to be far enough from the clearing, he finally turned and asked, "Do you think we fooled him?"

**Undoubtedly. Are you sure they'll tell the Puppet?**

"Maybe not _directly_... but Rufus is a Shinra. His genes are against him; he's bound to let it slip."

Far behind them, Rufus stepped into the clearing, fastidiously wiping the dirt from his white clothes. "Well that was interesting." He remarked idly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Behind him, Heidegger and Scarlet exchanged helpless looks.

* * *

Missing Scene: Rocket Town

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were being hideously chirpy, and Sephiroth's headache had finally been reduced to a mild pulse at his temples, although he still wished the birds would fall off their perches and die.

Yes, an absolutely beautiful day.

Jenova, sitting beside him in the passenger seat, was nervous. It wasn't the evil grin that kept flickering in and out of existence on her son's face. Or rather it _was_, but not because it was evil – it was more to that the unpredictability of it heightened the anticipation six levels.

**…Sephiroth? **

"Mmm?"

**There is a reason for this, isn't there? **

"Mmhm."

Silence.

**Well? **

"Hm? Oh, right. Well, I've always wanted to try running a Shinra employee over."

**…admirable I'm sure, but our _goal?_**

"Is to try for Scarlet."

Jenova paused. Sighed. Decided discretion was the better part of reaching godhood and slumped back. Sephiroth hummed something appropriately doom-laden under his breath, tapping his fingers elegantly on the steering wheel. From some house far away he heard the word 'lard' mentioned in the same context as 'tea' and straightened like a bloodhound on a scent. "_Palmer_," he breathed, the evil smile returning full force as he switched on the ignition and the truck lurched (far too fast for Jenova's liking) into motion.

**Tell me you know how to drive! **She shrieked, otherwise preoccupied with preventing appendages detaching and hitting the windscreen, and avoiding making further remarks on the quality of her silver-haired maniac's driving that would surely drive him to Puppet levels of recklessness.

"Of course," he snorted, flashing her a smile beyond the nefarious grade and into sinful malevolence. "Mother, I hear Palmer. I have a truck. It's the perfect combination!"

**I don't care! Where did you learn to operate a vehicle?! As the driver for members of a suicide pact?!**

There was the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting fender.

**…You've hit someone. **

"When someone runs out into the road without looking they forfeit any right to complain. Besides…" He stuck his head out of the cab window and craned his neck awkwardly. "It's Palmer. He has a natural buffer, he'll live if we're not careful."

Jenova gave an uncomfortable groan. **I think I'm going to be sick. **

Sephiroth raised an intrigued eyebrow. "How?"

Jenova shot him a furious glare. **Just get the body off the front of the truck, would you? This is exactly why we can never drive anywhere. **

Sephiroth shrugged as he exited, muttering under his breath.

* * *

A/N: Best viewed through a haze of alcohol, drugs, or general malaise. 

At last! On to funnier things!


	9. Sephiroth's Mind: Going, Going

Sephiroth needed little white pills (aspirin just wasn't going to cut it). Divine intervention might be nice. And if he managed to survive and eventually extricate himself from the situation, he was voluntarily going into therapy.

There was no God.

If there was a God, He was a sadistic bastard on par with Hojo, and He was now top of Sephiroth's 'To Die' list. If there was anyone who could kill an incorporeal being, Sephiroth was that anyone.

When you're insane, there is a curious freedom. There are certain things you cannot be expected to deal with.

Thinking rationally, for example.

Knowing exactly what The Big Plan actually is.

Listen to pop music _without _succumbing to the urge of killing someone.

Above all, you cannot possibly be expected to deal with fawning idiots. Especially fawning idiots in speedos.

Surprisingly enough, Sephiroth had not lost his temper when he discovered that the old man had sold the Keystone. It was only when he discovered just who bought it that he swore. Very creatively. It was highly likely only Cid Highwind would have been able to appreciate the depths of his creativity, many of the swearwords being some Sephiroth had picked up overhearing a standard conversation where one of the participants was the aforementioned personage.

Sephiroth had fully intended to slink right past Freak in a Speedo, grab the Keystone and make a quick exit. What he would have done with the thing afterwards still eluded him. It should have worked. There was absolutely nobody in the world that Sephiroth knew of who could hear him when he wished to be silent. He had reckoned without, however, the inherent sixth sense every single one of his admirers seemed to have as to his whereabouts. Should Sephiroth enter an already crowded room surrounded by hundreds of the greatest personalities known to man, his personal stalkers would _still_ know that he had entered their web.

One day, Sephiroth was going to discover exactly how they did this, whether by genetics, latent psychic ability or Other (please specify), and he was going to kill them all.

Sephiroth was not afraid. Never afraid. Admittedly, he had been terrified of needles, scalpels, electroshock therapy and sewer rats when he was younger (perfectly understandable, given his environment), but he had eventually overcome such fears. The lab assistants had discovered they had less chance of being kicked across the room by a panicking eight year old if said eight year old was knocked out. Literally, in most cases. The time had come when they didn't do their jobs as well as they should have, and it had been Hojo's turn to be on the business end of the scalpel. He'd carved 'I HATE YOU' very precisely into Hojo's chest, and had been carefully re-carving for the fifth time for greater definition when the soldiers had come pouring in, dragged him off Hojo and made him see stars momentarily by kicking his head.

Sephiroth liked to think Hojo still had the scars. He had, after all, thrown the nearest Cure materias out of the window in front of him.

The point was, while Sephiroth had been afraid of various things at some point in his life, he had always overcome such childishness. He was still mildly afr-wary about sewer rats, but other than that, he feared absolutely nothing.

He had now knew he had an incurable phobia of speedos.

"...look, the boy, the one with the Chocobo hair... if I do this, when he gets here, you'll give him the Keystone? After a suitably appropriate test, naturally."

He crossed his fingers. At long last, Freak in a Speedo nodded.

Sephiroth sighed in relief. Too soon, as it turned out, as he realised he still had to fulfil his end of the bargain.

Sephiroth had never screamed in his life. He had roared battle cries. He may have howled in frustration. He had certainly snarled his disapproval. But he had never screamed. Screaming was for the weak, the pathetic. Screaming was for those who couldn't control their fear.

Sephiroth was dangerously close to screaming.

* * *

"I am never, never, NEVER going anywhere near the Battle Square again until that transgression against humanity is dead." Sephiroth noted dimly that his hands were shaking. Shaking. He never -

**You may have t– **

She stopped. Wisely. Sephiroth's glare, accentuated by the slight tic in his cheek, promised death and/or mutilation undreamt of by the most sadistic demon. The idea that Sephiroth could find a way to inflict further mutilation upon a body that already defied every law of physics was terrifying.

"I need a shower," he muttered, dismissing her as he turned away, plucking distractedly at the completely unnecessary (in the eyes of the female population) straps criss-crossing his chest. "And an incinerator. New clothes." He shuddered. "I feel so dirty."

**I doubt you'll find a replica uniform here.**

"There might be one as a Halloween costume. I'll be happy walking around naked so long as I don't go with in a hundred feet of the Battle Square." It was very, very lucky there were no women within hearing distance, any of whom would have been happy to oblige him in removing the burdensome clothes.

Jenova mentally noted to remove everything that could be used as an aid to suicide from the bathrooms of the Ghost Hotel.

**I don't see the problem. All you had to do was pose for a photograph with him.**

Sephiroth shuddered, and curled up into a tighter ball, wedging himself in the corner of the room.

**...Pathetic.**

* * *

After the first week, Sephiroth had explored the entirety of the Gold Saucer (with the exception of the Battle Square) and had become a regular patron of the bar. It was one of the greatest mysteries to the Gold Saucer just how exactly he could still breathe, let alone walk out of there after drinking however many centilitres of spirits per night.

Halfway through his eighteenth vodka of the night, he remembered to ask where Jenova thought, in all likelihood, the Chocobo Head was.

**Wutai. I think the Turks are drinking there too.**

After allowing a moment for the new information to filter through his drink-soaked brain, he sighed, downed the rest of the drink and murmured regretfully that they should never have given the Chocobo Head the means to get lost anywhere in the world.

Other regular patrons carefully vacated the immediate vicinity. When the odd young man with the very long, very pale hair started muttering about the 'chocobo head', whatever that was, he was drunk enough to allow himself to be drawn into a fight. The results were always disastrous.

The bartender also knew this, and was anxiously trying to pry a still-full brandy bottle from the odd young man's left hand. "Sir, don't you think you've had enough?" Silently he commended his soul to God, prayed that his children would be safe, and thanked his own foresight in preparing a will.

Sephiroth glared.

If looks could kill, as the saying went, the man would not only be dead, he'd have been crucified, eviscerated and ritually mutilated first. Unfortunately, no matter how often he'd tried, it was simply not possible to kill someone by looking at them. Although there had been one employee who'd promptly keeled over under his patented Pissed Off glare, but it turned out he'd only fainted, much to Sephiroth's disappointment.

The waitress nervously pushed several bottles in Sephiroth's direction, and carefully escorted her boss to the back room, where he spent the rest of the night praying hysterically and whimpering that he had seen the Devil.

Sephiroth carried on drinking.

* * *

By the middle of the second week, Sephiroth had been reduced to spending long periods of time in the Chocobo Square, gazing intently at the chocobos, all of which ruffled their feathers and edged away uncertainly. Occasionally he would lead one particularly yellow one away, talking nostalgically about razing towns to the ground and killing people. Passers-by would overhear him asking the chocobo why he was being ignored and if the bars in Wutai were any good.

It would never be seen again.

* * *

"I miss Zack." He declared morosely, staring at his empty shot glass, which appeared to be glued to his hand. There was a squelching noise as some miscellaneous body part of Jenova's hit the floor.

He sighed. '_Note to self: next time, try using a blowtorch._'

Jenova pushed a bottle of clear liquid towards Sephiroth, who exchanged the glass for the bottle, and wondered what would happen if she tried giving him turpentine. She stared hard at him, giving off the air of extreme distaste.

**You have a drinking problem.**

"I do not have a drinking problem. I drink. I get drunk. I fall down. I wake up three days later. No problem."

**Is it _really_ necessary to drink yourself stupid every time you have the opportunity?**

"I'm making up for lost time. They _never_ let me drink at Shinra, the bastards."

**...I wonder why?**

* * *

"Suppose the bracket of time which we are conscious of is but a single thread of true time." Sephiroth eyed his empty glass thoughtfully. "What if true time has innumerable dimensions, that there are ribbons of time moving concurrently, like the warp and weft of cloth?" He paused to pour himself a new drink.

"If time is multidimensional, then history must unfold in countless ways. Suppose I could return to a moment in time and divert it along another route. I could change history. The possibilities… are endless." For a moment, Sephiroth's eyes gleamed. Then he reminded himself he was quietly getting soused with a being that called itself his mother and looked like something a mad scientist had decided to stitch together using everything in the fridge for a joke. He reminded himself that his hair would still in all likelihood brush the floor when he sat down.

He sighed. "I miss Chocobo Head." He said brokenly, taking out the little doll he'd made, complete with real chocobo feather hair, and prodding it with a pin.

* * *

Jenova was getting very worried. Sephiroth, deep in conversation with a new chocobo, didn't notice.

Sephiroth's increasing psychosis was not part of The Plan. Jenova imagined scowling. Who would have thought such a perfectly rational being would descend to such derangement?

Sephiroth asked the chocobo if it was sure it knew where it was supposed to go next.

It was simply not fair. What good was a deranged pawn that talked to chocobos? She stopped.

Sephiroth crooned something to the chocobo that made it back away sharply, eyes rolling in search of the knife. He continued murmuring threats, smiling very dangerously, making sure the bird stayed incredibly still by pressing the small but very sharp knife against its throat. Birds are often much smarter than they're given credit for.

**The Puppet is here.**

Sephiroth whirled around instantly, eyes lighting up in the unholy way of a small child on its birthday that knows it will receive a new toy to destroy. "Let's go!" he exalted, before turning to the chocobo and saying something distinctly similar to 'you got lucky this time'.

"I've been thinking." He said at last, as they headed towards the ropeway, intent on sabotage.

**Yes?**

"After we destroy the world. Can I keep it as a pet?"

**Keep what as a pet?**

"The Chocobo Head." Sephiroth frowned, shooting a withering glance in her direction. "I mean, we're not destroying everything. Just enough to get that spirit energy you were talking about."

Jenova cursed, and made a mental note that even when drunk Sephiroth had an excellent memory.

"So can I? I doubt he'll die. He's like a cockroach." He paused. "Only yellow."

Jenova added to her mental file on Sephiroth, 'mental state becoming increasingly fractured; thought processes erratic and irrational. May have to be destroyed to prevent further suffering.'

Sephiroth himself decided that if he had to kill the Chocobo Head, he would at least have the little doll to remind him.

He stopped. "...Does something about this look wrong to you?"

**...Why is that Mog bribing those people?**

"...he's doing our work for us. Who cares?"

**Sephiroth!**

He shot her the filthiest glare he could muster without the aid of alcohol. "Evidently, if he tells these people to say the Ropeway is broken, it will prevent Chocobo Head from leaving until morning. So in all likelihood, there is someone behind him pulling the strings to get the Chocobo Head in a weak position where they can grab the Keystone." It was at times like these that she managed to remember her son had once been at the head of the greatest military organisation in the world. Of course, in a matter of seconds he would ruin it completely with some inane remark no sane person would utter, but for a few moments she could comfort herself with the thought that he had once been quite brilliant at his job.

**How do you know it's the Keystone this 'someone' is after?**

Sephiroth snorted. "Like anyone'd want Chocobo Head for the company." Jenova tactfully didn't mention that ten seconds ago he'd wanted to keep it as a pet. "Gotta be Rufus." Sephiroth decided. The thought of a plot seemed to sober him up immediately. He looked absolutely delighted, all traces of being a chocobophile gone. "And if it is... that means Tseng'll be here." The smile, Jenova decided, was positively evil.

**...Tseng?**

"Head of the Turks. He'll be the only one sober enough to do the job."

The smile was very, very evil.


	10. Don't all Clouds have beaks?

**You are not going to the bar. **

"Why not?" Sephiroth tried to step past her, but for something that had been disintegrating since Midgar, she blocked the way surprisingly well.

**I don't want you drinking. **

"I'm touched by your maternal concern, but I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions." He contemplated kicking her out of the way before making a last-ditch attempt to lunge past her.

Jenova did something only she ever had the nerve or will to do.

She slapped him.

Sephiroth stopped, astonished. It had happened before, but he would be the first to admit he'd deserved it. This was totally uncalled for. "You… hit me." He looked so stunned it was small wonder a man in a mog suit offered him a cup of tea.

**No. Alcohol. **

"But it will be hours before we can steal the Keystone!" He remembered suddenly that he was holding a cup and saucer, and took a sip of strong, sweet tea, grimacing.

**I don't care. I've had it up to here **– the tentacles waved threateningly **– with your drinking. **

"I'm twenty-fi –" He paused, re-assessing. That wasn't right, was it? Hadn't he been dead five years? Did that count? "...thirty, mother."

**So? _I_ was around since before this miserable little planet was even born. Your existence is equivalent to a mayfly's against my own. **

Sephiroth tried staring her down, but as she had no discernible eyes – or at least, eyes in the conventional places (or even conventional places to have eyes) – it was extremely difficult. He threw the cup at the wall and stalked off instead.

* * *

"Nobody appreciates us, do they, Cloud? No they don't." He stroked the rather perplexed chocobo's head absently. It shuffled nervously before deciding it quite liked the feeling and evidently the nice man who had eyes the colour of the perfect greens (don't ask how he knew, since he could only see in shades of grey) was not as dangerous as he looked. It was fortunate the bird was blue-feathered.

**Why have you named that bird after the Puppet? **

Sephiroth blinked, looking up at Jenova in the doorway. "What?"

**You've named the chocobo 'Cloud'. Like the Puppet. **

"That's Chocobo Head," he frowned, tickling the bird under its chin. Jenova gave a sigh of exasperation.

**No, that's Cloud. _That_ is a chocobo. **

Sephiroth stared at her with no sign of comprehension, before looking back at the chocobo. "Don't all Clouds have beaks?"

...**you are _insane_. **

"Isn't everybody?" Sephiroth murmured, before singing a lullaby to the bird, which warked along sleepily, resting its head on his knee.

Jenova slapped them both.

* * *

What Sephiroth was doing might have been considered sulking, had he been six years old. But Sephiroth was not six years old, and even then it had been labelled a 'dismissive silence'. He crossed his arms and glared resentfully at Jenova from the corner of the room.

The resemblance to a sulking six year old was incredible.

He wasn't allowed to drink. He'd lost all hope of getting his precious scissors. And Mother had hurt Cloud, who'd reacted quite violently and tried to tear his hair out. It was going to take weeks before Cloud forgave him for being slapped. Unlike the Chocobo Head, he had a long memory.

**Look. The Puppet. **

Sephiroth looked up from trying to glare a hole in the floor just in time to see both Chocobo Head and some girl in a pink dress vanish down the chute for the Event Square. There was something about that scenario that he didn't like. At all.

"…what is he doing?"

**I believe that in your human terminology it is part of the ritual of courtship, known as a 'date'. **

Sephiroth bit his lip through and kept very still until he could trust himself to speak without cursing.

"Please don't tell me he left the Keystone unguarded to go on a _date_."

Jenova wisely said nothing.

"That… that… _idiot_!" His vocabulary had once been extensive, but unfortunately, heavy drinking seemed to have wiped out most of it.

**So? It makes our job easier. **

Sephiroth ignored her. "Doesn't he _realise _I could just waltz in there and take the damn thing? The absolute stupidity of the boy!"

**You can waltz? **

Sephiroth crushed the urge to destroy her, and, through sheer force of will, kept his eye from twitching spasmodically. "Just go. We'll see if we can kill Tseng while we're at it."

* * *

They were walking through the faux graveyard before Sephiroth finally spoke. "Who was the girl?"

**What girl? **

"Brunette. Green eyes. Pink dress." When there was no acknowledgement he snapped, "on a date with the Chocobo Head."

**Ah. She's the last of the Cetra. A half-breed Ancient. **

"The last?"

**Very, very last. **

There was some dark, ugly emotion in Jenova's voice that Sephiroth didn't want to identify. It seemed obscenely similar to happiness.

**You'll kill her, of course. **

"I'll _what_?" He stopped, and waited for Jenova to realise. "Her taste in men might leave something to be desired, but that is not reason enough for me to kill her."

**Of course it is. And we are not going to discuss this now. **

"Why not?" he demanded, furious with being dismissed. He was the dismisser, not the dismissed, goddamn it.

**Because, my charming, ever-violent son, there is a Mog coming down the path toward us carrying the Keystone, and if we don't move soon, he'll see us. **

Sephiroth kicked her out of the way and crouched behind one of the gravestones. Thank god for black leather. "What did I tell him? Don't pick up just anybody... but _noooo_, he just ignores me and takes in talking cats, vampires, traitors and pilots that don't know the meaning of the word 'polite'." He hissed the words spitefully, too angry not to let them be spoken aloud.

**Shut up! And I don't think you told him that. In fact, I'm certain you told that to the chocobo. **

"Mother, I_ can_ tell the difference between a Chocobo Head and an actual chocobo you know."

**Are you quite sure? **

"Yes!"

**Quiet! **

The Mog bounced past unmolested. He did indeed have the Keystone, Sephiroth noted, but he was quickly distracted by Jenova's attack on his cognitive abilities. "Why would you think I can't tell him apart from a chocobo?"

**Oh, no reason. No reason at all. **

He glared suspiciously, but then remembered that in all likelihood, Tseng was now in the Gold Saucer somewhere waiting for the Keystone to be delivered. "We'll settle this later," he promised, gathering together the parts of Jenova that seemed to have scattered over the graveyard, noting that the threads seemed to have been burnt through. "Mother, have you been burning the threads?"

**They itched. **

"They were holding you together."

**They. Itched. **

"Yes Mother." '_Blowtorch._'

If it hadn't been for the collecting together of Mother's many body parts, Sephiroth decided, he could probably have killed (or perhaps demolished was the more appropriate word?) the Mog before torturing Tseng and making his way to the Temple of the Ancients himself. Yet another reason to kill Mother. The list now contained seven hundred and ninety-two items, with seventeen sub-clauses.

"There _is_ an actual map to this Temple place, right?"

**...well... if there was a map, it would rather defeat the description of it as being 'legendary'. **

Reason seven hundred and ninety-three.

* * *

What might have happened, had Sephiroth been allowed to ignore the script: 

The Mog bounced past. And he had the Keystone. Well, did they really expect him to let him get away with handing it over to Tseng? "Hand over the Keystone." The Mog jumped. It set Sephiroth's teeth on edge. The over-exaggeration of every action annoyed him almost as much as Palmer's addiction to lard in his tea. _Almost_.

"N-No…"

He sighed. Well, no one could say he hadn't warned him – he'd gotten in to trouble over that many times. _Why_ exactly, he had never been able to find out. Wasn't it obvious that being punched in the face by a Neanderthal was going to result in him punching back (though a great deal lower than the face and with a lot more finesse)?

He smiled (the sight made the Mog jump back in over-exaggerated terror. Given who was smiling it really wasn't enough to convey the sheer petrifying pant-wetting terror that was being exerted). He paused at a momentary twinge of conscience from the child-shaped version of himself that had once wanted a stuffed mog to fill with weights and hit Hojo over the head with, then decided that the Mog would be as good an outlet as any for his undying hatred of his own situation. He made use of his extensive knowledge as an occasional confession-extractor, until what had once been a Mog with a cat on top was a mangled hunk of machinery. It was the electricity sparking intermittently from dangling wires that eventually stopped him – it made his hair go rather static.

**I think you've killed it. **

The cat's paw twitched. Sephiroth stamped on it. "I may have gone a little over the top." He admitted, surveying the carnage with satisfaction.

**Now what? **

Sephiroth flung the Keystone up into the air and caught it. "Well, he was muttering about Chocobo Square. Let's taunt Tseng!"

Jenova was beginning to think she was having a slight breakdown herself. She could have sworn he was _skipping_.

Evidently Chocobo Head and his date thought the same thing, as both stopped and stared on their way back from their outing around the Gold Saucer as Sephiroth danced past, before giving chase.

"Here, Tseng." Sephiroth grinned as he sauntered (he'd stopped skipping seconds before) into the Chocobo Square to find the Turk sitting taking a sneaky drink inside the helicopter. He waved the Keystone in front of the Turk's face happily, the expression (if it hadn't been for the lacking glint of pure evil in his eye) that of a hyperactive child on caffeine. "Looking for this?"

The Turk's Wutaian eyes narrowed (a particularly difficult thing to achieve with already narrow eyes). "Sephiroth…"

"Sephiroth!" Sephiroth blinked. Had he just heard an echo? No, he realised, as seconds later he was hit in the back by an irate Chocobo Head.

"Get off!" Unfortunately, Chocobo Head refused to listen. He landed quite a few good hits before Sephiroth grabbed a chair (there was _always_ a chair around when Sephiroth wanted to bash someone round the head. Always) and started trying to destroy all the blond's remaining braincells with it. "What is your skull made of!" He screamed in exasperation, as the grip on the cross-straps didn't weaken, no matter how increasingly cross-eyed the blond became.

**I bet you 100 gil his hair cushions his skull from the impact. **

At last, the infernal grip weakened, until Sephiroth staggered to his feet triumphantly (if a little dizzily)... only to hit round the face by the Ancient's staff. Hard. He stared in astonishment at the blushing Cetra, who seemed about to apologise pathetically and profusely. "That's it," He snarled (or as best as he was able to, considering he had to hold his jaw in its correct alignment) "You are _so _dead, Pinky!"


	11. Nyum nyum

**West here. **

"It's open sea!"

**That's just what the map says. **

"I'm fairly sure that if a map says there's open sea, there's open sea!"

**Well _I'm_ telling you there's an island. **

"There is NO island! Look! We've been circling here for the past two hours! How the _hell_ did we end up off the peninsula of the Northern Continent anyway?"

**... perhaps we should have gone east from Rocket Town. **

"Genius, Mother. Genius."

* * *

"Shit!" The yelp suggested someone (most likely a certain silver-haired someone) had received the shock of his life.

**What? **

"It tried to poison me!" The disbelief in Sephiroth's voice suggested he couldn't have been more surprised if Ex-President Shinra had popped up and started doing the hula.

**For an extremely powerful warrior, you are rather pathetic. **

"And what exactly are _you_ doing?" He spared a glance in the direction he had last seen her, only to find she seemed to have vanished. "Mother?" Ah, there she was.

**It's called a strategic retreat. **

"You're hiding _in a log_, Mother."

**Strategically. **

"The Crisis of the Skies, Goddess of the Planet. Hiding in a log from a Kelzmelzer."

**It's ugly. **

It took Sephiroth fifteen minutes before he could laugh without choking, and a further ten before he collapsed holding his ribs.

* * *

There were many things Sephiroth might have been doing outside the Temple of the Ancients. Killing things might have been the most obvious choice, but by some quirk of fate, directly outside the temple was the one place on his journey where he had abstained (so far) from killing. This annoyed him, because he had fully intended to kill just to make a mockery of the sacred ground. Instead, he was learning how to use a blowtorch. Which Jenova was learning too, by default.

"Hold still!"

**It burns! **

"It's a blowtorch – what did you expect?"

**It isn't helping! **

"Be grateful I didn't swipe the hammer and nails while I was at it." Jenova gave a strangled (if she had, in fact, a windpipe left to strangle) scream.

**You're doing it deliberately! **

"Of course not. Now hold still... this could hurt a little."

Birds from five miles around took to the air.

"Or a lot, perhaps."

The wailing was beginning to hurt his eardrums, so he decided perhaps it would be better if he left off welding and simply invested in a wheelbarrow, as Inner maniac snidely remarked.

* * *

The way was already open. This told Sephiroth one thing. Tseng was already there. This was a bonus, as Sephiroth was disappointed with not having killed anything outside the Temple. He'd never liked Tseng that much anyway. He walked on, humming.

* * *

Sephiroth blinked. Hard.

"Nyum nyum?" No, it was still there. He had been certain that the reason behind the blue… thing's appearance had been that he'd ingested a hallucinatory drug at some point. Maybe those mushrooms…

"Nyum nyum?"

"Mother, be a darling and tell me what on earth _that_ is."

**An Ancient. They've guarded the Temple for years… over the centuries they've lost the ability to speak. **

"Oh." He prodded it.

"Nyum nyum!"

That was it. He was at the end of his tether here. Jerked around by Mother, the Chocobo Head stupidly allowing the Key Stone to be stolen from him because he was on a _date_, and now, a blue thing. A Blue Thing that _bounced_.

The Ancient watched curiously as Sephiroth began hacking at branches until he found one that seemed to suit his purpose. With his back deliberately to the Ancient (which craned its neck uselessly to see) Sephiroth began to put those wood-carving classes he'd slept through to use. Wood-carving. Pah, since when had _wood_-_carving_ been any use in battle? Shinra was full of idiots. Of course he was to end up in the military, why the hell did he need a 'rounded' education? Driving a few nails into the wood, he stood up, grinning.

"I name you 'Nailbat'." He informed his masterpiece solemnly, before turning around and smashing the Ancient into a wall. "Home run!" He smirked, raising his arms in mock triumph. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, the Ancient tried to bounce away unnoticed. Unfortunately, bouncing is not conducive to being ignored.

"Come back here!"

Jenova watched, speechless for once, as Sephiroth chased the unfortunate Ancient around the grounds, waving 'Nailbat' in the air with one hand, screaming "'Nyum nyum' me, will you!"

**Sephiroth? **

"Mmm?" Taking advantage of the brief diversion, the Ancient darted into the nearest house, a shield springing up.

"Oh, Mother!" Sephiroth scowled, as he attempted to follow his prey, to be rebuffed every time with a rather odd sound from the shields. "No fun!"

**That's quite enough. There will be others to traumatise. **

Sephiroth scowled petulantly (or if it wasn't petulance, it was a creditable imitation). "There'd better be!"

**There are serious matters to discuss. **

"Uh-huh. Serious matters." The Nailbat claimed another victim.

**The Ancient girl stands in the way of our plan. **

"Ancient girl?" Sephiroth stopped, brow creasing as he tried to match a face to the designation. "Pretty girl… green eyes… plait… always looks like she's about to giggle at a private joke?"

**Yes, yes. The point is, as a Cetra, she has the ability to wreck m-our plans. So she must be disposed of. **

"Disposed of?"

**Honestly, call yourself a killer? **

"I quite prefer the designation of soldier. Puts the blame solely on my superiors as to whom and how many I kill."

**Hmph. Whatever you say. The Cetra Girl must be killed. **

"Why?"

**Because I say so. **

"Why?"

**Because! **

Seeing she wasn't winning any support, Jenova decided to change tact.

**There are nine members on the Puppet's teams. Suppose they go into a restaurant where the biggest tables are eight-seated? One would be left out. **

"Awkward, yes, but that's hardly a reason..." Sephiroth paused to try and assure himself it wasn't actually an eminently sensible reason to kill someone.

**Remember how we missed getting the Keystone? **

He frowned. Yes, that was a better reason to kill her, he decided. No more distractions for Chocobo Head.

**And besides, it will remove one corner of that soap opera-esque love triangle. **

Now Sephiroth was completely lost. Soap opera? What on earth? And what love triangle?

**Haven't you noticed? The two girls seem to have decided they both want the Puppet as a mate. It doesn't bear thinking about. **

"Two? I thought there were three members of the female persuasion on the Chocobo Head's team?" He counted carefully. Whiny Girl. Cetra Girl. Ninja Brat. Yes, definitely three. "Which one isn't in the running?"

Jenova decided that if she hadn't been an alien life form, she would quite possibly have had a coronary by now.

**It's between the Whiny Girl and the Cetra! Now, kill her! **

"But Mother! Think of the possibilities! A Cetra Chocobo Head Puppet!"

**...my god, what have I done? **He was definitely mad, this silver-haired child of hers. Or Lucretia's, if you wanted to get technical. But! He definitely belonged to her, and Lucretia could go on screaming. Silly woman.

**Listen! The point of this conversation is not to decide the Puppet's hypothetical children! It's to decide that you kill the girl! **

She knew him well enough not to add that the Puppet would die with the rest of the human race anyway.

"Can't I kill Whiny Girl?" He demanded, studying his nails (the fact that he was wearing gloves somewhat negated the pose).

**What purpose would that serve? **

"What purpose does killing the Cetra serve?"

**What is your problem? **

"It goes against my personal code of ethics and honour." He scowled, cracking a foolishly curious Ancient across the skull. Jenova exerted great self-control in stopping herself from pointing out he had no code of honour. "I don't kill women. Not unarmed civilian women."

**She has a staff, doesn't she? **

He snorted. It was amazing how even that could be elegant when it was Sephiroth. "Since when has a staff been a lethal weapon?"

**Would _you_ like to be jabbed in the guts with one? **

"You're thinking of a spear, Mother."

**And what's the difference between killing the Cetra and killing the Whiny Girl anyway? **

"The Whiny Girl is a martial artist. She at least can fight in a manner of speaking. Besides, I just don't like her."

**And here I thought you just didn't like women. **

Sephiroth kicked her into a wall.

* * *

Sephiroth was quite simply lost. He'd been chasing the same blue bouncy thing (which he was _not_going to dignify with the title 'Ancient') all through the Temple, and he still hadn't found what the Mother Alien Bitch wan-

"Ah."

ted. He had, however, just found the reason he had ever agreed to be on this stupid, idiotic Become Evil Overlord of the Planet quest. _Scissors._ Less than five feet away, waiting the centre of goddamn stupid clock above what looked like a never-ending pit. Illuminated by a single shaft of light, in the manner of cliché religious enlightenment. There might as well have been a giant sign declaring 'artefact of great religious significance here'. Which scissors weren't, judged by conventional standards, although he disagreed.

He moved faster than he'd ever moved in his life (or afterlife, considering he wasn't, technically speaking, alive) but Jenova, having given up the restraints of having a skeleton, moved faster.

The scissors were sent spiralling down.

He stood stock still for a moment, trying to sort out which urge he should give in to first, the need to scream denial, beat something up (probably an alien something) or collapse and wail his grief to the ceiling. He settled for beating Jenova while screaming before collapsing and crying for the first time in his existence (even as an infant he'd simply had an imperious way about him that demanded 'feed me. Now.')

In fact, one nurse had added he'd glared at her in a way that said 'When I have full control of my motor functions, you will regret this act. Badly'.

This was because she had slapped a toddler Sephiroth on the wrist when he refused to stop reaching through the bars of his cell for a sword some idiot of a soldier had left on the table.

The threat did in fact come true. Years later, she was acting as a secretary on the 68th floor when Sephiroth decided to test his Slaughtering Factor. She was the one who had managed to yell "Hel-" while Sephiroth tried to discover where he seen her before.

Regardless, he was now sobbing brokenly and trying to discover if it was worth dying to follow the scissors.

Life was simply not fair.

* * *

Sephiroth's eyes hurt. He rubbed them fiercely, trying to wipe away the sense of betrayal he felt at his body breaking down without his express permission. Which he had ever given in any circumstance. They hurt. And they kept leaking a saline fluid he wasn't sure was entirely healthy for them secrete.

It was while in futile struggle with his eyes that he heard the conversation originating from room he seemed to have missed. One sounded distinctly like Tseng (he perked up at the thought, and stopped trying to rub his eyes from existence) and the other like a hyperactive blond ditz. Which was female, so couldn't possibly be the Chocobo Head. Keeping out of sight as the female Turk left (their standards must be slipping), he entered the room. It was actually a sneaky matter of hitting the Guardian over the head with the hilt of the Masamune (he'd put the Nailbat in a box somewhere at the bottom of the Bottomless Pit Below the Clock while searching for the scissors) before grabbing the keys and entering. He did this all quickly enough that it appeared he had teleported there. Of course, since Tseng was talking to himself, he didn't actually notice him, so that helped too.

"Sephiroth!"

The high intellect of Turks these days.

"So you opened the door. Well done." He couldn't quite bring himself to grin in anticipation of Tseng's death, because the weight of the scissors was still on his mind.

"This place... what is it?" He was definitely going to mess Tseng's hair up, he decided apathetically. Insult to (life-threatening) injury. He _hated_ Tseng's hair, particular how it always looked incredibly refined and perfectly styled, even in the middle of whipped cream fight (another of Zack's brilliant ideas).

"A lost treasure house of knowledge. The wisdom of the Ancients..." He refrained from yawning in exhaustion. "I am becoming one with the Planet." '_Wait a minute. I am?_'

"One with the Planet?" Sephiroth hoped he didn't look quite as confused as Tseng. '_Yes, Mother. One with the Planet? Why am I the last to hear these things?_'

"**You stupid fools. You have never even thought about it. All the spirit energy of this Planet. All its wisdom... knowledge... I will meld with it all. I will become one with it... it will become one with me**."

That hurt too, he decided. Being used as a mouthpiece was not something he wished repeated.  
Tseng's brow furrowed. If Sephiroth were him, (which, thank merciful God, he was not) he would have done so too. They were, after all, having a fairly civil conversation. If you ignored the fact the fairly civil conversation topic was How To Become God Plan A. "...you can do that?"

Sephiroth had absolutely no idea. "**The way... lies here." **

**Kill him. He's served his purpose. **

Sephiroth brightened considerably. Although Mother's lines left something (read: a lot) to be desired, he did get all the best jobs. "Only death awaits you all. But do not fear. For it is through death that new spirit energy is born. Soon, you will live again as a part of me."

All the years of having to nothing to do for hours but stare blankly at Tseng across the boardroom made up for.

He turned back to blob that was Jenova and gifted her with a smile to send fangirls into a coma. "Mother, many times have I regretted my momentary madness in joining your quest. But this... this suddenly makes it all worth it." Tseng crumpled neatly. "Now, Tseng." He frowned. "Are you listening to me?" He prodded the life-threatening wound he'd so recently inflicted. "The Keystone. When the Chocobo Head and his band of merry idiots arrive, don't forget to hand it over. I'm not sure they'll have the sense to rob your corpse."

"You-"

"Don't say bastard. It's a vulgar, over-used word. It's true, but that's beside the point. Now..." he picked the Turk up easily by his suit lapels and began dragging him back to the Temple entrance, taking particular care to drag him over the roughest terrain. He whistled as he did so, and didn't mind even when Jenova informed it would be another hour before the Chocobo Head would arrive. There were always more Ancients to terrorise.


	12. Mother's Speeches: Evil for Dummies

**She's going to pray for Holy! It could wreck all my- our plans! **

"Mother, I have no idea what 'Holy' is, and as such, am not concerned by it."

**Well you should be! **

"Perhaps… if you had mentioned it earlier. I am sick – and – tired – of – being – the – last – to – know!" Each word of the last sentence was carefully punctuated by a blow to a decidedly near-dead Nyum-nyuming Ancient. Sephiroth reigned himself in with effort and smoothed back his hair. "What is Holy?"

**A powerful magic. The antithesis of Meteor. **

"And what is Meteor?"

**The Ultimate Destruction Magic. **

"Wonderful." He paused. "It _is_ ours, isn't it?"

**But of course. **

"Mother… I don't believe the girl to be capable of summoning anything powerful enough to destroy Meteor."

**You don't understand! **

Sephiroth resisted the urge to tell her perhaps that had more to do with fact that she never told him anything.

**If a soul reaches the Planet asking for Holy… **

"If a soul reaches the Planet… Mother, think about what you've just said." There was a long pause. Sephiroth tapped out an SOS in Morse code on the Blue Bouncy Thing's skull. And again. And agai-

**I want her dead! Dead! Deaddeaddeaddeaddead! **

Sephiroth inhaled deeply. Think Chocobos, he told himself calmly, closing his eyes and wishing his ears functioned in a similar manner. Sunshine… fields and fields of dead Shinra officials…

**Dead! Deceased! Bereft of life! No longer on this plane of existence! **

The chocobos in Sephiroth's mind keeled over unexpectedly. His eyes snapped back open again. It was time to treat this decision with the dignity and intense deliberation it required.

On the one hand, killing the girl would cause great emotional damage to the Chocobo Head. Torturing the Chocobo Head was one of the few things that made life bearable, so that was definitely a plus. On the other, it would make Jenova happy in the short term, something he had long ago decided to put all his skills and efforts into preventing.

_But_, if he killed the girl, she would reach the Planet that much faster, thereby ensuring greater success in the matter of Holy, and therefore helping the Chocobo Head. And helping the Chocobo Head was helping Jenova's imminent demise.

He weighed the two options carefully, ignoring Jenova's incessant chanting of 'dead'. It would make Jenova happy… but it would hurt the Chocobo Head. It would make Jenova happy… but it would help in the matter of her death. Decisions, decisions.

The incident with the scissors was still very clear in Sephiroth's mind. Jenova needed to die. "I'll kill her." He said aloud at last.

**Deaddead– You'll kill her? **

"Yes, Mother." He sighed irritably. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good, he reassured himself. He then realised what thought had just transpired in his mind and wandered away to try hitting the rebellious thoughts out of his head. He would tolerate no insubordination from Inner Maniac at this late stage.

* * *

"You hear something?" Sephiroth murmured, hastily shoving the now deceased Ancient Blue Thing into a corner.

"Sephiroth is here, right? No matter what he thinks it's going to end here. I'm taking him out!"

"All right! Guess you youngsters gotta be enthusiastic like that!"

Now one of those sounded like Sephiroth's favourite little manic obsessive, and other like the man with the most profane vocabulary on or off the planet. It was a reasonable bet to assume the Cetra would be there too. Was he supposed to kill her now? Or did that wait awhile? "Hm. Mother, our guests have arrived. Finally."

"This is the room with the murals…" Yes, that was the girl, right there, looking all pretty and delicate. The undoubted Healer of the group, he mused, as he could see no other function for her. There. That was another reason to kill her. The thought of having the Mog as a Healer and mistaking Ice materia for Cure was enough to send him into fits of maniacal laughter. Or even… Chocobo Head as Healer.

He bit his lip through trying very hard not to laugh out loud.

"Where are you? Sephiroth!"

The skill of switching lightning fast from maniacal laughing insanity to sober insanity was getting easier and easier all the time.

**So cold. I am always by your side. **

He raised an eyebrow at Mother's illusion. Not a bad representation. She had some talent. '_Vanish, Mother, this is _my_ show._'

"Come. Splendid. A treasure house of knowledge…"

Poor Chocobo Head. He looked so bewildered, so completely out of his depth. "I don't understand what you're saying!"

'_Well, that makes two of us._' "Look well."

"At what!" He wailed. Sephiroth could have patted him on the head in commiseration, but decided not to risk getting his hand run through on what had to be hedgehog quills in order to be able to keep the outrageous hairstyle.

"At that which adds to the knowledge of…" '_Something._ _Something Mother hasn't told me yet._ _Line!'_

**Ignore it. 'I am becoming one with the Planet'. **

"…I am becoming one with the Planet."

'_I don't really need to repeat myself so often do I?_' Jenova refused to answer. '_Fine. Be that way._'

"Soon… we will become one."

"How do you intend to become one with the Planet?" Damn, that girl asked some insightful questions. How exactly _did_ you become 'one' with the Planet? It had to be the most outrageously stupid idea he'd ever heard. That's what you got for trusting something with tentacles.

**Repeat after me. **

'_Right. I can do that. Please, don't let it be as stupid a speech as your others._' Jenova ignored him, as she was wont to do.

"It's simple. Once the Planet is hurt, it gathers Spirit Energy to heal the injury. The amount of energy gathered depends on the size of the injury. ...What would happen if there was an injury that threatened the very life of the Planet? Think how much energy would be gathered!" He dutifully imitated Jenova's maniacal burst of laughter. "And at the centre of that injury, will be me. All that boundless energy will be mine. By merging with all the energy of the Planet, I will become a new life form, a new existence. Melding with the Planet... I will cease to exist as I am now... Only to be reborn as a 'God' to rule over every soul." He paused for breath. And that was a 'simple' plan? Sounded bound to fail to him.

"An injury powerful enough to destroy the Planet? Injure… the Planet?" The Cetra looked confused too. It _was _very difficult to comprehend, Sephiroth decided. Even for him, and would therefore be far beyond the Chocobo Head's meagre abilities.

"**Behold the mural. The Ultimate Destructive Magic… Meteor.**" Behold! As if he would use such a word!

"That will never happen!" Hearing the defiant words he sighed with all the long-suffering irritation only a true friend/enemy can feel. He sincerely hoped his puppet had written a will.

Sephiroth vanished.

"Mother," he said calmly, watching as the group fanned out searching for him, without realising he was sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, "Have you never taken a course for Evil Geniuses? Rule Number One: You never, ever, _ever_ tell the protagonist your Evil Plan."

**Shut up. **

"I'm simply informing you of what should be common sense to an evil genius. Although, you're hardly a genius, are you?"

**And I'm informing you that if you don't shut up, you can say goodbye to that beautiful face and expect to have children run away screaming from you. **

"Mother, children are blood-thirsty little fiends. At the sight of disfigured face no longer recognisable as human they would run towards it rather than away, if only to throw things at it."

**You are not helping your race's chances of survival. **

"What race is that, Mother?" Sephiroth asked, saccharine sweet. "As you put out, I'm not quite human, but I'm not a Cetra in any sense of the word, given the girl as a comparison, so what race do I belong to that you are going to destroy?"

**All of them. I'm going to destroy all the filthy wretches. **

"That's the spirit, Mother," Sephiroth said wryly, watching the Chocobo Head's mental breakdown out of the corner of his eye, "Hate everyone equally."

"Cloud!" Damn it, he _hated_ the girl. She was ruining all the fun!

"Leave Chocobo Head to his breakdown, damn it!" He broke off a piece of ceiling to throw at her. In his anger, he misjudged it and it clipped Cid on the ear, which resulted in a flood of swearwords (many of which Sephiroth took note of, having never heard the like before) and a snarled "What the hell is going on?"

**Sephiroth! You're giving our presence away! **

"But Mother! Chocobo Head was in the midst of descending into insanity there. Do you have any idea how boring it is to be insane with just you for company?"

**Too late. **

"Mm? What's wrong? Is something wrong?" Goddamn. The Puppet recovered.

Sephiroth glared daggers. Daggers, several swords and a pitchfork besides. "Yes, something _is_ wrong! Damn you, why should you get to be marginally sane and I don't!"

**Sanity's a nice place to visit, but I don't think you'd quite fit in there. **

"…It's nothing so don't worry about it. Right, Cloud! It's nothing. Sephiroth got away."

Sephiroth gaped at the girl wordlessly for a moment in pure fury. "What? Am I 'nothing', girl? I don't think so!"

Jenova tactfully kept her silence.

"...Don't worry about it. I understood what he was saying. So this must be Meteor, right?"

"No shit. And like hell you understood what I was saying – _I _didn't understand what I was saying!" Puppets these days, thought they knew it all. Hmph.

"...this must be magic." The Cetra declared firmly. "Just what Sephiroth was saying. The Ultimate Destructive Magic, Meteor. It finds small drifting planets with its magic. And then collides with them. This Planet might get wiped out entirely..."

Sephiroth paused. "Mother, she explained it better than you."

**I told you to SHUT UP! **

There was a loud roar. The blond's head whipped up so fast Sephiroth was certain he'd hurt it. "Sephiroth!"

He took pity on them, teleporting nearer so that they could actually hear him, the deaf fools. "It's not me…" '_Idiot. Do I _sound_ like a dragon to you?_'

Dragons, he mused, reappearing on the ceiling to where Jenova appeared to have been glued by the fluids she secreted. "I like dragons."

**Just how many of them have you met? **

"Just one. I think they're indigenous to mountain ranges." He sighed. "Such a pity."

**Somehow I doubt it's 'such a pity' because of their status as rare monsters. **

Sephiroth nodded in agreement. "Masamune likes dragons."

**… of… course. **

Sephiroth eyed her suspiciously, before turning back to the battle scene below. Chocobo Head was improving. He felt a vague sense of pride for that, though the reason eluded him.

**Sephiroth, is he… **

"He's using my Nailbat." There was a long pause. Then they both burst simultaneously into laughter. For the first time they laughed maniacally with each other rather than at each other. Sephiroth coughed weakly, struggling not to fall off the ceiling. "Why is he using it anyway? Didn't the Ancients give him anything?

**I don't think the Ancients approved of violence with weapons that would result in blood. …They had a staff for the girl. **

"That's hardly fair now, is it? Poor Chocobo Head," he crooned to the doll. "He wouldn't have got anything if it wasn't for me."

**Sephiroth… please put the doll away. You're going to give the wrong impression to the Puppet. **

"What impression would that be?" Sephiroth scowled, carefully tucking the doll into his belt, where it could see everything from waist level.

**Sephiroth. **

He sighed. "All right! I'm sorry-" This to the doll- "But Mother says you've got to go away." Jenova glared resentfully at the doll, certain that there was an insolent look in the glazed materia chip stare.

**I should not have to fight for affection with a damned toy. **

"You should not need affection in the first place, oh emotionless goddess."

**I hope you suffer eternal torment in Hell. **

"Same to you." He snapped, turning his attention back to the scene below, where Chocobo Head and dim-witted company discussed the moving of the Black Materia.

"Guess stuff this dangerous is best left alone?" Hn. The pilot had brains.

"No. We've got to think of a way to get it out. Because Sephiroth has lots of different flunkies. It's nothing to him to throw their lives away to get the Black Materia. This place isn't safe." Shame about the Chocobo Head. He snorted quietly. As if a Clone could be trusted. Silly boy, that was why he was waiting for _him_ to get the Black Materia out. So that he could steal it.

"So what are we going to do?"

A phone rang. Sephiroth eyed the group once more, incredulous. Was it just him, or was that both a) absurdly out of place, and b) suspiciously well-timed?

**What are they saying? **

"I can't hear what the other person on the phone is saying..."

"…We can't let Sephiroth get his hands on the Black Materia. And we can't let the Shinra get theirs on it either."

"…But I'm guessing from what Chocobo Head's just said that Traitor Mog has offered to sacrifice his stuffed body to get the Black Materia. Hm. I hope Chocobo Head doesn't think that's all it takes to redeem him."

"…I guess we have no choice…"

So. The traitorous mog was to sacrifice himself for the greater good. He wasn't quite sure whether to be pleased or angry. On the one hand, he was a mog, and mogs shouldn't be sacrificed lightly, any more than chocobos (his fingers tangled themselves unconsciously in the doll's feather hair). But he'd betrayed Chocobo Head, and if there was one thing Sephiroth hated more than the Shinra monarchy, it was traitors. He didn't like to be betrayed by someone working for that shadowy 'other side' any more than he liked Shinra employees acting as traitors in the enemy camps. Crass, dishonourable act. And it wasn't really a great sacrifice now, was it? Mogs could be rebuilt.

They just didn't do Great Sacrifice like they used to.

"Don't trust him, you idiot." He warned the blond as the group started to move.

**Sephiroth, you are aware he can't hear you...? **

"The hell he can't. He's just being difficult."

**Sephiroth. **

"What is it?"

**Are you aware that Chocobo Head and his team have vanished towards the exit? **

"…Let's go."

* * *

**Isn't it beautiful? **

"…It's a hole in the ground." Sometimes he just didn't understand Jenova. In fact, that 'sometimes' was so often, it was 'all the time'.

**Exactly. One of the few monuments to the Cetra's existence is gone. And the guardians with it. **

"You mean… they crushed the guardians? And they call _me_ evil?"

**Don't worry. You'll get to kill the very last one of them soon. **

"Oh, _joy_."

**Why don't you sound pleased? **

Sephiroth sighed, and wondered if it was quite worth it to explain that being the killer of the last of an entire race wasn't exactly one of the things he'd wanted to grow up to be. But then, he sincerely doubted Chocobo Head was conventional Knight in Shining Armour material. The gods had exceptional humour.

"So long as we have this, Sephiroth won't be able to use Meteor. Can you guys use it?"

"Nope, we can't use it right now. You need great spiritual power to use it."

Chocobo Head frowned. Sephiroth could almost _hear _the mental gears turning. "You mean lots of Spiritual energy?"

He sighed and slumped back. '_Not that many mental gears, apparently_.'

"That's right. One person's power alone won't do it. Somewhere special. Where there's plenty of the Planet's energy... Oh yeah! The Promised Land!"

**Your entrance soon. **

"I refuse. I am humiliated by those speeches. And the pay for this job is abysmal."

**Sephiroth. If you don't go down there in exactly** **five seconds, after the Puppet has finished speaking, I shall not only obliterate your face I shall hand you over to Hojo. He's been refurbishing the lab, did you know? Even you wouldn't be able to escape. **

"…Fine."

"He shouldn't be able to find the Promised Land."

There were days when it simply wasn't worth chewing through the leather straps in the morning, Sephiroth reflected. Appearing in front of the Chocobo Head, he realised this was most definitely one of them. "...Ah, but I have. I'm far superior to the Ancients. I became a traveller of the Lifestream and gained the knowledge and wisdom of the Ancients. And soon, I will create the future." Which was odd, because Sephiroth personally couldn't recall travelling the Lifestream whatsoever, and particularly not finding the Promised Land. Who would want to stay on this cesspit of a Planet if they had found paradise? Nor did he find much wisdom in a Blue Bouncy Thing that sounded as if they'd had their lips sewn together (which, he realised, recalling Jenova's smugness at meeting them, they had). And personally speaking, he had no desire whatsoever to shape anything other than a new hairstyle.

"I won't let you do it! The future is not only yours!" The Ancient's face was endearingly determined. Sephiroth let his rigid control go just long enough for his eye to twitch. Thankfully, being much better at appreciating the signals than Jenova or Chocobo Head, she paled.

Jenova snickered appreciatively. "**... I wonder? Wake up!**"

"Shut up!" Sephiroth blinked, before realising the snarl came from somewhere near his feet. '_What are you doing down there, Chocobo Head? Mother! Are you hurting my poor little puppet? Didn't we agree that only _I _got to do that?_'

**Sephiroth, pay more attention. **

_'I _am_ paying attent…hey, I was right about him having multiple personalities. You owe me five hundred gil._'

**I'm not sure it's multiple personalities if they're the same person, simply in different stages of development. Sephiroth – remember his name is _Cloud_. **

Sephiroth scowled briefly in exasperation. Chocobo Head was whoever Sephiroth said he was, and Sephiroth said he was Chocobo Head. It was very simple. But never mind. "There, Cloud... good boy."

…He still didn't think it fitted him. Cloud. Pft. "…Well done." For the first time ever Chocobo Head had managed to do something right the first time he asked. It was a miracle! He suppressed with effort the urge to hug the boy until his ribs fused together.

Thank God for Clone abilities he didn't understand that allowed him to teleport. Thank all the gods there would be no more speeches for a while.

**Soon m- our plans will reach fruition. **

Sephiroth translated that in his mind to 'soon Jenova will be dead'. Worth the agonising speeches? Oh yes.


	13. Aeris' Big Exit

Dreams were a funny business. In the case of Cloud Strife, for example, they were either a) a near-perfect (Sephiroth found them quite funny) representation of a memory years ago, or b) a conversation with the voices in his head. No exceptions.

Well, except maybe this one.

"Everything is white... What did I do? I don't remember anything... My memory... since when...? If everything's a dream, don't wake me."

This one was giving Sephiroth a headache. Real, spirit-walking, dreaming? You could never be too sure. If only puppets did as they were told and had no hidden depths. But then again, life wouldn't be half as fun if he didn't have his favourite chocobo-spawned puppet. Although, since Chocobo Head was his only puppet, maybe the term 'favourite' didn't count.

"Cloud, can you hear me?"

'_No._' Ancients. Always butting in on private monologues.

"Yeah, I hear you. Sorry for what happened."

Sephiroth snickered, hastily converting it into a cough when the Ancient sent a suspicious glare in his general direction. She knew he was there, of course – dreams were the premise of mysterious healer girls after all – but it wouldn't do to clue Chocobo Head in on the fact. Just yet, anyway. He had full leave to do as he wished once she was out of sight.

"Don't worry about it."

Sephiroth wished dearly that he had Nailbat. Watching the Ancient disappear behind one tree and reappear behind a completely different one was giving him the unmistakable image of a fairground game involving holes, weasels and mallets.

"...I can't help it..."

Sephiroth snorted so hard he nearly fell out of his tree.

"Oh... Then, why don't you REALLY worry about it? And let me take care of yourself. So you don't have a breakdown, okay?"

'_Lady, I will do my solemn best to give him a breakdown._' He was not going to suffer alone! Insanity loves company, even Sephiroth generally didn't. He had the feeling Chocobo Head would do a suspiciously good job as an evil maniac. It'd be nice, to put the job on someone else, just once, so he could find that most precious hair salon.

"What is this place?"

Aeris kept moving, just in case Sephiroth reconsidered his course of action and decided to kill her in this dreamscape anyway. "This forest leads to the City of the Ancients... and is called the Sleeping Forest. It's only a matter of time before Sephiroth uses Meteor. That's why I'm going to protect it. Only a survivor of the Cetra, like me, can do it. This secret is just up here. At least it should be. ...I feel it. It feels like I'm being led by something."

'_Me!_' He paused for a long moment. Well, okay, so he had nothing to do with it this time around.

"Then, I'll be going now. I'll come back when it's all over." She smiled brightly (the sort of bright that makes you shield your eyes for the damage it could do to them. It was a pity she seemed to be praying for her deliverance under her breath.)

"...Aeris?"

It was probably the most amusing thing Sephiroth had seen in his life, the blond trying to run after her and going nowhere. Certainly ranked high up on the list with Heidegger and stairs, and that time he'd bribed Zack to write 'I am a gigolo' on the back of Rufus' pristine white coat just before he went into Midgar with the Turks. Reno had found it most amusing, which was unfortunate, as Rufus then decided he had to be responsible ever after for every prank ever played on him.

"Hmm... She's thinking of interfering? She will be a difficult one, don't you think? We must stop that girl soon."

Now... which way had she gone?

* * *

For someone who had to know that her demise was imminent, the Cetra Girl looked remarkably cheerful. It was enough to make a homicidal maniac give up in despair. Or go on a wonderful killing spree to get over the disappointment. Multiple genocide – that was sure to cheer up any self-respecting manic psychotic.

"Hello."

Sephiroth flinched for the first (and hopefully last) time in his life. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" He demanded, swinging round to face a deceptively innocent looking Ancient.

"I couldn't help it," she said apologetically. "You looked so deep in thought-"

"And do you really think it wise to interrupt a genocidal maniac in deep thought?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" She paused to giggle at a bouncing red materia. Sephiroth kicked it, glaring when one of the trees slapped him. Sleeping Forest. Yeah, right.

"Ohhh, poor Katja!" The girl was instantly cradling the abused materia, which bounced in a far more subdued manner. Sephiroth gave it a baneful glare that sent it in burrowing into the red jacket, before uttering several violent and profanely worded suggestions as to what he would do to 'poor Katja' if it ever went within ten metres of him again. It quickly abandoned the slight protection offered by the girl's arms and vanished into the undergrowth.

He ignored the glare sent his way from the Ancient with practised ease. "This Holy thing. You really think it'll work?"

She paused, looking uncharacteristically sombre. "Will you kill me if I say yes?"

He sighed in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Trust the Chocobo Head to pick up a broad as dense as he was. No, he decided. He was being uncharitable. The girl at least had some idea of what to do to get rid of Jenova. He paused. Whiny Girl could have the dubious honour of having the female equivalent of Chocobo Head's brain. "I'm going to kill you anyway. I'd just like to be sure it's not a total waste of time."

"Well..." She leant against a tree in silent communion. "I believe so."

"Excellent." Sephiroth declared happily, sauntering past.

The girl gazed after him, open-mouthed.

* * *

The Sleeping Forest, Sephiroth decided, was quite a beautiful place. If only he didn't have a pink-clad gnat chattering happily in his ear. Would it make a difference, he wondered, if he just gutted her here and now? Please god, WHY? Why were that such beings as this one in the world? What kind of God would inflict such nauseating sweetness on his people?

"I don't understand what you need to prove."

Sephiroth grunted something non-committal, as he had been doing every ten minutes or so for the past eight miles.

"Why kill everyone?"

"Historical precedent. Rome did not create a great empire by having meetings, they did it by killing all those who opposed them."

The girl was getting better and better at those 'you are a total idiot and I shall ignore everything you say' glares. "Destroying the planet. Pretty radical just to make sure Hojo was really right."

Sephiroth settled for something more succinct. "Blame Jenova."

Aeris stopped and gave him a withering stare to do any Turk proud. "And since when, pray, has Jenova been able to make _you_, of all people, do something you didn't want to do?"

"Since never." He admitted. "Except the speeches. Trust me, I have _nothing_ to do with the speeches. ...Speaking of which, would you happen to know of where I might procure a copy of Advanced Evil Speeches for Dummies?"

"You can find second hand copies in any market anywhere Shinra is control," she informed him indifferently, before returning to the previous topic of conversation without missing beat. "So why? Why?" To Sephiroth's utter astonishment, she prodded him on the nose with a complete lack of concern for her well being. "Tell me! Pllleeee—"

"World domination."

"I think you're lying to me," she said sweetly. God, the girl had to die. Such sweetness should be wiped off the face of the earth, its existence mere tales whispered in dark places to frighten toddlers.

"Revenge upon the world." The big question was 'for what?' Still, he was sure his PR agents could come up with a convincing excuse. That was what he paid them for.

"Lying."

"Redeem my sins."

"By erasing them? Lying."

"Destruction of my enemies. By erasing them." That was plausible enough, wasn't it?

"Ly-ing!"

God_damn_ her. "...Assert own self-worth."

"Most definitely lying. Egotist."

He scraped the bottom of all the credible excuses he could give before reaching the truth: "...boredom?"

"Hmph." She settled herself resolutely upon the ground, leaning back against a tree. "I'm not moving until you tell me!"

"...Shouldn't you be concerned about the Zackalike catching up?"

She gave another of her patented gently mocking giggles. "Don't be silly. Cloud isn't an Ancient. Even if he gets here earlier than expected –"

"You mean next Tuesday," Sephiroth muttered resentfully.

"He'll still have to find the Earth Harp to be able go through the Sleeping Forest without getting lost."

He snorted. "Chocobo Head could get lost following a straight line; how can you possibly expect him to reach the Ancient City any time this year?"

"…Did you just call Cloud… 'Chocobo Head'?"

"…no?"

Aeris giggled. Sephiroth concentrated on breathing and prepared himself for a tormented journey to the City. '_Please tell me there's a nirvana. I deserve it after this._' He paused in astonishment.

"Ch-Cloud has just arrived at the Bone Village."

"You were about to call him Chocobo Head, weren't you?"

Sephiroth scowled ferociously. Stunningly, it made little difference to the Ancient's demeanour. "Will you shut up?"

* * *

The biggest problem with life, Sephiroth reflected, was pink-clad remnants of ancient civilisations. Said pink-clad ancients taking it upon themselves to explain just why they were willing to die and why they were so nervous about it came a close second.

"...I wouldn't mind so much, if I was absolutely certain I was coming back."

Sephiroth scowled irritably. "And why should it be different for you? Why bring you back, when there are countless others who die every day?"

"But… well… I'll have died for her, you see, and-"

"And you figure she'd owe you for that? Grow up. Anyway, does that make you any more important than, say, the hooker screwing the security guard I killed in the process of getting Mother out of the Shinra building?"

Her lips thinned dangerously. Of all the people to get into a moral (or was it theological?) argument with. "Of course not."

"Then stop whining and face facts – you're screwed. There is no coming back, and most of us like it that way. The best thing about life is that you only have to suffer through it once."

"You would turn down such a boon from the Planet? But… why?"

"Because somehow I sincerely doubt she would be content to let me repent by living in harmony with myself and others. Unless it's completely necessary to her continued existence that I am here, there is absolutely no reason for her to bring me – or anyone else – back from the dead. It goes against the natural order of things."

"Says the man who wants to be god."

"Who said anything about Godhood? I just wanted to get a haircut."

There was a long, long silence. Even the Forest, which had been muttering ever since he arrived, had shut up.

"It's trying to strangle me," He said defensively, shooting his hair (wavering insidiously in the slight breeze) a mistrustful glare. Silken threads inched perilously close to his throat to be batted away with snarled curse the like of which Cid hadn't gotten around to using in front of his new comrades yet.

"Um… has no one pointed out to you that you've always carried an extremely sharp implement around with you?"

He stared at her blankly for a long moment, before making the necessary connections. "You mean… _Masamune_?"

There were no words capable of expressing his rage. Aeris (very wisely) shrunk back from him and tried to conceal herself behind a tree (which was also attempting to move out of the way, but unfortunately, having roots prevented this). "Masamune is for cutting off heads, not hair! The effrontery of it! Woman, you have just signed your own death warrant."

"Pardon me, but I thought that had already been decided."

The temperature dropped ten degrees in an equal number of seconds. She weighed her chances, and decided there was more likelihood in Hojo winning Midgar's Sexiest Man on the Planet award than of her continued survival if she truly succeeded in pissing Sephiroth off.

There was a long silence while both tried to think of a way to reassert normalcy.

Sephiroth broke the silence first. "…100gil says I can reach the City before you do."

"If we're going to bet, why not make it interesting?" Another of those terrible, sweet smiles that made him want to gouge his eyes out in immeasurable fear of what it portended. "Let's say… 1000. You can pay it to Cloud, as I won't be around to collect it in person."

Scowling green eyes met in eternally happy ones. "Very sure of yourself, aren't you?"

That terrible smile widened impossibly. "But of course. You forget, I am a Cetra, and this is home ground."

He smirked in sudden triumph. "Ah, but _I_ can teleport." There was a sound of air rushing into the vacuum created by a tall man vanishing to reappear somewhere else. Aeris gaped wordlessly after him for a moment, before remembering that it was totally unbecoming of a mysterious, eternally light-hearted and never-surprised Ancient to gape.

"Mother! He tricked me!"

There was a wearied sigh from what appeared to be the trees. _My child, he is going to die. Is it not enough?_

"No! Make him suffer!"

_Very well_. There was a note of total exhaustion in the voice of Mother Gaea, who either had a headache from trying to keep herself together while slowly dying, or simply didn't want to deal with the last of her migratory servants anymore than Sephiroth did. They were extinct for a reason. _I'll see what can be done about a resurrection. No promises, mind. Now please… will you concentrate on the task at hand, child?_

* * *

Sephiroth's lower back ached. Like hell. He'd been sitting in the rafters while the Ancient prayed for the last six hours. AND he'd had three hours beforehand to scout out the entire place and decide on the course of action: It was all in the dramatic timing. Maximum amount of emotional damage to the Chocobo Head with the least amount of effort. He was starting to regret it though. No theatrics could be worth the pain he was feeling. He was going to end up with a curvature of the spine if the little bastard didn't hurry up.

He finished off the Rubix cube and almost tossed it over his shoulder before remembering it would hit the water (or if he was very lucky, the girl) and alert the Cetra to his presence.

He took out the little Chocobo Head doll instead (the feathers looked a little forlorn now, he decided, patting them absent-mindedly) and yanked on a loose string the seemed to come from the tiny little heart he'd decided to stuff inside as an afterthought. Along with all the other major organs. Sephiroth liked the thought that poking them with a pin could cause immense pain. Not that he believed in such superstitious nonsense, of course, but still. It was the only way to relieve the anger sometimes.

Somewhere in the city above, Cloud Strife woke up. "I feel it..." He blinked at the others, putting his head to one side in a way that Sephiroth had decided long ago only reinforced his chocoboness by making him look like a very curious bird. One that just _begged_ to have rock thrown at it. "Aeris is here ...and so is Sephiroth."

"Wh, what! Sephiroth?"

"Hey, how do you know?"

Cloud blinked again, frowning as he tried to explain it. "...it's not an excuse. I feel it in my soul."

And somewhere in the rafters above a praying Ancient (and he was fairly sure she'd fallen asleep kneeling) Sephiroth hugged his little doll and finished up by explaining that if it didn't arrive soon, bugger the dramatic entrance and emotional damage, he was going to kill the girl and just carry on walking.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your viewpoint), the Chocobo Head and his ragtag bunch of misfits, all of whom Sephiroth planned to kill personally in his ascent to godhood and shorter hair, were running down the stairs full tilt, oblivious to the holy aura and serenity of the place. Sephiroth threw the Rubix cube to one side (it skidded along nicely before teetering dangerously on the edge) with a muted cheer.

Now... did he really need to get blood on his coat? He paused, realising he had hit upon a dangerous setback. On the one hand, if he used the Chocobo Head to kill the girl, as was his right as the boy's puppeteer, he would not only cause even greater emotional and psychological damage, he would also keep his coat clean. On the other hand, poor Masamune hadn't killed anything of worth lately. In fact, nothing since the Zolom. Then again, the Ancient was hardly a being worthy to die at the point of his beloved Masamune. Few things were.

Option 1, he decided, quietly whispering in the blond's mind (something he'd learnt from Jenova's first attempts as being far more persuasive than simply yelling and alternately whining, as she did now) all the reasons there were to kill her, how easy it would be, and of course, as a puppet can only dance as it's master makes it, it was a fairly (pitifully, really) easy task to get the blond to try and attack. Sephiroth would happily have killed those meddling idiots Chocobo Head called 'friends' when they interfered.

"Come on, kill her! _Kill _her! Don't listen to them, listen to _me_!"

**What is the point in this exercise?**

"I decided it would cause even greater emotional and psychological damage if the Chocobo Head did the killing himself - Kill her! ...and I don't want blood on my coat."

They turned their eyes back to the scene below.

"What are you trying to make me do?" Anguish. Good. Sword away. Bad. He sighed.

"It's cliché, but it's true." He muttered, standing up (despite the great and incredibly violent protests from his back). "If you want something done, you've got to do it yourself." He stepped off from his perch.

_'Right. Do we have everything?_' Sword? Held in both hands, perfectly positioned to cause immense damage to one unsuspecting Ancient's spine. Check.

Coat? Fluttering impressively and fortunately not wrapping itself around him like an extremely clingy lover that he would have to try hard to resist the urge to kill come morning. Check.

Hair? Not attempting to strangle him, but probably trying hard to grab something on the way to halt the descent violently and abruptly. Thank god he was falling through empty air.

Boots (how stupid would he look without those)? Strong enough to stop him breaking all the bones in his feet when hitting the floor? Probably not. Check anyway.

Look of utter determination and focused evil? Probably replaced with one of utter boredom. Pro or con in the quest to cause maximum emotional damage? Pro, he decided. But after further deliberation still decided to opt for bored evil.

Blood? Ah, there it was now. And not on his coat either. The bits of flesh and bone seemed to come along free. How pretty.

What came next, he mused, studying the horrified look on the Chocobo Head's face. Ah yes. Smirk. Evil smirk. Evil smirks were one of Sephiroth's greatest and most obsessively perfected forms of silent communication. Others included the Inscrutable Look, The Glare (there was more than one. In fact, there was a whole catalogue), the Schadenfreude Look of Amusement and The Silent Promise of Thumbscrews. He was particularly good at that one.

He looked back down at the girl. Still breathing? He would just have to fix that, he remarked absently to himself, and removed the Masamune from its highly attractive receptacle in one smooth movement.

Last shuddering breath of Ancient? Most definitely check now, he informed himself happily, mentally crossing it off as the Cetra collapsed neatly into the Chocobo Head's arms.

Victory Dance? That would have to wait until the bones in his feet knitted back together, he decided. Behind him there came a muted splash. Perhaps the Rubix cube had lost the battle with gravity and fallen into the water. Or maybe it was that stupid piece of White Materia the Cetra Girl seemed to think nobody had noticed was held in place by the pink ribbon in her hair.

He cast a discreet glance at his watch. It would have to be a very short speech. Jenova flicked frantically through 'Advanced Evil Speeches for Dummies' (he'd made a detour to get it after he'd realised the Ancient wouldn't arrive for another hour or so), before hissing it rapidly in his ear. Quite possibly the most disturbing sensation ever.

"Do not worry. Soon the girl will become part of the Planet's energy. All that is left is to go North. The 'Promised Land' waits for me over the snowy fields. There I will become a new being by uniting with the planet. As will this girl..."

"...Shut up."

Sephiroth was highly affronted. It wasn't as bad a speech as it could have been. In fact, it hadn't even managed to become a speech. "The cycle of nature and your stupid plan don't mean a thing. Aeris is gone. Aeris will no longer talk, no longer laugh, cry... or get angry... What about us... what are WE supposed to do? What about my pain? My fingers are tingling. My mouth is dry. My eyes are burning!"

All of this, of course, reduced Inner Maniac to hysterics, but left him rather confused.

"What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me you have feelings too?" He frowned. Curious. Was that feeling in addition to everything else, or did he have feelings the same as Sephiroth had feelings?

"Of course! Who do you think I am?"

'_Shinra's bastard son!_'

**No, no, a woman masquerading as a man. You _know_ it's true.**

He couldn't quite stop the hiccups of laughter, before sobering up. This was a serious business, to reveal the puppet's own nature to him. "... Stop acting as if you were sad. There's no need to act as though you're angry either. Because, C-**Cloud**, you are..."

He vanished. He was getting better and better at it, he preened, before opening his mouth to finish the sentence. All loose ends must be tied. Loose threads in anything irritated him no end.

**It can wait.**

He paused, looking down from his perch high above the altar. "… I wish you would stop dropping tentacles all over the place. It's disgusting, Mother. Absolutely disgusting." Jenova ignored him very easily, so Sephiroth staved off boredom by actually watching the fight below and offering helpful hints that nobody seemed to hear: "No, no, cut her goddamned head off!" and "Duck, you idiot!"

**Because, you are... a puppet.**

"How is he supposed to hear that?"

**He heard.**

"I'm... a puppet?"

Even from his current height, Sephiroth could see the perplexed expression on the boy's face, and with an understanding of his puppet that disturbed him sometimes, knew that every circuit in his brain had blown. "I think he took that quite well."

**Yes.**

There was long pause during which the various members of Avalanche managed to say goodbye to the girl and somehow reach the top of the stairs before either Jenova or Sephiroth had moved a muscle. "...Can we watch the funeral?"

**No.**

"Can we watch the funeral?"

**No.**

"...Please?"

**N- Don't look at me like that.**

Sephiroth continued looking. Puppy dog eyes were simply ridiculous on a man of his stature, so Sephiroth had adapted by looking quietly desperate, as if the entire world and his own personal history was pressing down on him, splintering his soul into a thousand pieces, and he needed some daring female to drag him out of his own despair.

Which was chocobo dung, of course, but it always worked.

**Very well. Get moving.**

* * *

They watched in solemn silence as the last of the Cetra was interred. In a manner of speaking. He was rather disappointed with his Puppet – couldn't even spend the time to dig her a grave. Still…

"…Wouldn't it be funny if she woke up down there?"


	14. Puppets & Illusions: Good Mix

It had occurred to Sephiroth many times to wonder at the disappearance of Professor Ghast. As much as he hated scientists (and he did – they were a subspecies that needed to be destroyed) he'd always respected him. If only for the fact that when Ghast had been in charge, Sundays had indeed been a day of rest. That respect had just been lowered a few notches by the realisation that not only had he been abandoned to Hojo for the Ancient Ifalna (who looked scarily like Aeris – so much so that he had an unpleasant idea of where exactly this 'research' was leading them both) but also that Ghast apparently couldn't tell the difference between a Cetra and a thing with tentacles.

"One more Mother, then we'll go." Jenova didn't answer, owing to the fact that she'd been squished into the fridge and was currently working hard at extracting herself, a tentacle at a time.

It did explain a lot, he admitted, resentfully throwing popcorn at the screen every time Ifalna appeared, but the knowledge had been gained at a high price. At least, it had from his perspective, which was the only one that mattered. Leaving a defenceless child to the mercies of a Hojo (who could give any high-ranking torture demon a serious run for his money before beating him hands down) for a woman. Pah. It was quite lucky Ghast had just been shot on screen, or Sephiroth might have decided to subvert his quest for a while to find him and castrate him. No, he didn't have abandonment issues, whatever gave you that idea?

The faint vestiges of guilt at killing a praying girl suddenly flew out of the window. That was a relief. Guilt, even in the minute quantities he'd felt, was a horrible sensation that he'd never had before and as such, had made him feel incredibly miserable. Too miserable to even enjoy Chocobo Head's extremely funny speech about how he was falling apart. There was an odd silence when the tape finished. Odd because it was broken by various disgustingly pulpous noises as Jenova pulled herself from the fridge, and a near inaudible sigh from a sternly disapproving Sephiroth, just before he buried his face in the feathery hair of the Chocobo Head doll. "You won't abandon me, will you?" He mumbled quietly, trying to figure out when the chocobo smell had acquired faint undertones of ice and fresh apples.

With a sickening, squelching noise impossible to describe, Jenova finally pulled herself out of the fridge. There were several odd indentations that lead him to believe the fridge hadn't been as empty as he believed when he shoved her into it.

**Let's go. And if you don't put that doll away, I'm going to tear it to pieces.**

The doll disappeared from sight faster than Yuffie carrying away Bahamut and friends. Sephiroth vanished out of the door a full ten seconds slower.

"Can we snowboard down there?"

**Completely unnecessary. There is a perfectly good reason you can teleport.**

"Yes, but that's no fun!"

**Sephiroth, don't-**

There was an outraged screech, as somebody's back door suddenly became a makeshift snowboard. "Come along, Mother."

**Bad Sephiroth! Bad, bad Sephir-!**

The enraged homeowner came storming out, waving a rather lethal looking shotgun, only to find the culprits vanishing rapidly out of sight, and silver hair waving insolently from the distance.

* * *

**I'm going to kill you! **

"Relax, Mother. You're mostly in one piece, aren't you?"

**Kill you!**

He sighed. There was just no talking to her in this mood. He couldn't see what the problem was. Yes, a large chunk had detached itself from the main amorphous mass when they'd run over that moogle, but what function did that have anyway? She was being totally unreasonable.

**And I'll pick that doll apart seam by seam!**

Now _that_ was unreasonable. He pushed her hurriedly into an ice cave, and continued walking.

The best thing about this job, he mused, throwing a rock with stunning accuracy and hitting a bird, was that he got to see possibly the most beautiful places in the world. Like here, for instance. Completely untouched by Shinra (or by very many men at all, for that matter), it was almost as peacefully beguiling as the Sleeping Forest. So long as he kept moving, that was, and didn't allow himself to freeze. That would have rather spoilt the experience. Of course, it was all going to be wiped out if Jenova got her way, but these things happened. If Chocobo Head only made as competent a hero as he did psychotic, everything would be fine anyway. One could only hope.

Speaking of chocobo psychos - or was it psycho chocobos? - there was one just there, flying through the air in an astonishing manner, when taken into consideration the complete absence of wings. Said wings especially made their absence felt when the poor boy hit the ground in a flurry of snow and flailing limbs.

Sephiroth winced in sympathy, breathing a quiet sigh when the boy managed to (quite painfully by the look of it) lift his head from the snow. He never _had_ got the idea that Chocobo Head was technically an adult by virtue of the number of years he'd spent in existence. Nobody had thought to inform him that even if _he_ never looked older than twenty-five, other people aged. So while he spent an agony of five years counting seconds go by without ageing for any of them, his puppet had in fact reached his majority. Or perhaps the thought was simply too terrifying, the puppet being mistaken for a responsible adult.

"Ugh... I guess we're still in one piece... Everyone all right?"

There was an assorted grumbling and moaning that Sephiroth took to be the affirmative. Or the Chocobo Head did, anyway. "So where did we land? We've jumped pretty far..."

There was a map. Sephiroth knew for a fact that the boy had a map (mind control – a wonderful thing) so why didn't he use his brain for once, and look at it? Was he entirely inept? ...Why couldn't he have got someone who _hadn't_ had the important parts of his brain removed by Hojo to be the puppet?

"It sure is cold. We'll freeze if we stay here any longer."

Sephiroth put his head in his hands. It was useless. Utterly useless. The world was doomed. '_Mental note: Never place faith in anyone resembling a chocobo, particularly in matters pertaining to the world's continued survival._' Maybe if he walked away and ignored the problem it would go away. It was worth a try.

'_The fate of this planet is not in the hands of a lobotomised chocobo. Really._' Repeating it over and over almost made it real.

Sephiroth had never prayed in his life (well, once or twice maybe, but God hadn't caused Hojo to conveniently disappear in an amazingly painful manner, so he'd given up) but just this once, he'd like his prayers answered. It was too much to ask for the loan of a brain, so... '_Please, just give him enough luck to succeed in killing Jenova at least._ Please? _I can't take much more of this!_'

It was no wonder people didn't pray much anymore. It was a decidedly bleak silence that greeted him when he stopped thumping his head against a tree trunk and opened his eyes. Gods. Who needed them? He'd just have to do this himself. He was probably twice as competent anyway. For some reason, that bleak sense of despair still followed him.

* * *

He was surrounded by idiots. _Imbeciles_. They were going in circles, and not only that, in the wrong direction. He'd assumed his previous lack of faith was only a momentary thing, but he was quite certain of it now – the world was doomed. It would be a shame – he'd liked the majority of places, even if there had only ever been one or two of the people he could stand. He watched the Chocobo Head try gallantly to wake his companions from their varying states of unconsciousness with an exasperated sigh. It was time to implement Plan B. He'd never had a Plan A in the first place, but who was to know?

**We have other things to worry about than the welfare of your pet.**

"Mother, Chocobo Head has the Black Materia."

**So pry it from his corpse.**

"Look, most of his companions have already collapsed. If he sits out here trying to wake them up much longer he'll freeze without realising it. That guy over there..." he jerked his head irritably at the climber who would later introduce himself as Holzoff, currently peeking out at the Chocobo Head from the trees, "Won't take them in till they've all collapsed. And it takes a long time for a..." he paused. Not a SOLDIER... a... "...being infused with mako to actually collapse with cold. It's mostly after they're dead."

**So? Our concern is the Reunion. Nothing more.**

"The Reunion requires Chocobo Head. And the revelation of his real past is the fun bit, and that requires an audience. All of whom are going in the wrong direction and likely to freeze to death."

**Oh, very well. **

He breathed a sigh of relief. Mother was getting increasingly irritable the closer to the summit they got. Muttering quietly about useless former climbers, he left the cover of the trees and hit the Chocobo Head sharply on the back of the head with the hilt of the Masamune. Quite unsurprisingly (although not to the Chocobo Head, his expression one of total bewilderment), the blond's legs buckled and he collapsed face first into the snow. Sephiroth quickly discarded the idea of hitting Holzoff 'by accident' as he scurried up to the fallen idiots/heroes, but this didn't prevent his fingers twitching spasmodically as he headed towards the cliff. Idiots. He was sick and tired of baby-sitting idiots.

Not only that, his hair was becoming increasingly brittle and dry the longer he stayed out here. He might not like the length, but he did like to look his best no matter how personally dissatisfied he might be with certain aspects.

This business of breaking Chocobo Head's mind into infinitesimal pieces with memories and illusions had better the best fun he'd had since rolling Heidegger down the stairs, or he was going to resign his contract as evil bishonen and spend what remained of the planet's life trying (unsuccessfully, as always) to get a suntan at the Costa Del Sol. That was another of life's big mysteries – the total inability of his skin to gain any hue beyond extremely pale. All things considered though... sunbathing probably wasn't the wisest of decisions. Unless of course, he'd like death by asphyxiation due to any number of women crushing him. That would be just possibly more interesting, if a little more predictable, than being strangled by his hair. No, scratch Costa del Sol. It might be nice to have one last barbecue, though. Nibelheim could go on the 'maybe' list.

His absence wouldn't change anything (apart from the forces of evil no longer having an attractive spokesperson), but it _would_ mean he wouldn't be present to witness the excruciating spectacle of the end of the world, or the prerequisite final speeches.

**…I'm so pretty, oh so pretty…**

...What a terrible way for a planet to die.

* * *

**It's been a long time… **

"Too long." Sephiroth muttered, surveying the long line of Clones with a speculative look that meant he was soon to perpetrate some act of mild insanity. This was immediately proved true, as he knocked out the last Clone in the line, supposedly in the interests of discovering if they really did act like dominoes when knocked down. To his great delight, fifteen went down before a sizeable gap prevented anything more than a stagger on an unfortunate Clone's part. Sephiroth killed him anyway in a fit of pique at the pattern being ruined.

**If these circumstances ever present themselves again, I shall not enlist the help of a silver-haired maniac who disgraces the gift of my genetics.**

"I'm certain he'll be very grateful."

**Idiot.**

"I'm sure you are, mother, but there's no need to insult yourself." He stooped to help a Clone up and then killed him. "Is Rufus coming to this little soirée?"

**Quite coincidentally, yes.**

"Oh good. The bigger the audience, the better. Isn't that right?" he murmured to the doll. If ever a doll could look terrified, this was that doll – possibly because Sephiroth had been musing aloud for the past five miles if he should fix puppet strings to it in a messy live surgery, in the interests of accuracy. The change in facial cast was quite an amazing feat, given the fixed nature of its expression, which had originally been one of bland innocence.

There was no point in vexing himself over that however, when the perfect diversions littered the path all around him. The adoration and worship had been intriguing while it lasted, but ultimately, there was one form of entertainment Sephiroth valued even higher than Godhood and devoted Clones. That was, quite obviously, killing them. "This is the end... for all of you." He declared haughtily, laying waste with will.

'_One clone... two clone... three clone... four clone..._'

"Sephiroth!"

'_Damn._'

"This is the end!"

He did so enjoy Chocobo Head's turns of phrase. Wonderfully melodramatic. He had a sneaking suspicion he got his lines from 'Heroism for Dummies'. It wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest. "**You're right. This is the end of this body's usefulness.**"

'_! No it isn't! I need a body to get around! Mother, you bitch!_'

"He disappeared!"

"He might still be nearby…"

As far as Sephiroth himself was aware, he wasn't, but one of Jenova's misbegotten beasts of destruction was. And he couldn't see what was going on at all. Oh, this was just not fair. Not fair at all.

"Jenova's cells... ...hmm. So that's what this is all about. The Jenova Reunion..." Well, wasn't that obvious? Hadn't he _said_ that, over and over? Why was he cursed with an utter dunce for a puppet? If he screwed up and Sephiroth was alive when Meteor still smashed into the earth he was going to kill him. Slowly, and excruciatingly painfully.

"Not Sephiroth? You mean all this time it wasn't Sephiroth we've been after?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, the only thing I'm thinking about is beating Sephiroth." He was so proud of the immense scope of his puppet's vision. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

"But Sephiroth is..." '_Alive? Dead? Unbelievably attractive? Living Mideel under an alias? In a padded cell?_'

"He's here. The real Sephiroth is just beyond here. It's both incredibly wicked and cruel... But it's releasing a powerfully strong will from deep within this planet's wound." There were times when Chocobo Head had an insight that was almost enough to convince you he had an I.Q. ...Chocobo Head with brains. Now _there_ was a terrifying thought.

"...The Black Materia is back in our hands. Now all we have to do is defeat Sephiroth and that'll be the end of it." Well there went that illusion. How could he possibly be quite so asinine as to believe that? It made it easier, to have someone of dubious intelligence as the protagonist, yes, but it was slowly driving him insane. He could probably have more intellectual conversations with an eight-year-old.

"We'd better not take the Black Materia any further. Why don't you give it to someone else to hold on to?" Dear god, Whiny Girl was a genius. There was a long silence, presumably while Chocobo Head muttered 'eeny meeny miney mo...' and ended up with, of all people, what was he called... the guy with the never misfiring, perpetually loaded machine gun arm.

"Damn, man! ...Pressure's on now." Sephiroth would have been quite happy to put him in a pressure cooker, but this was not the place, and so carefully marked it down as a possibility for future reference. He already had the Traitor Mog down for being run over with a steamroller. He imagined he'd appreciate the cartoonish aspect of it.

"Don't give it to ANYONE. I'm counting on you." It was going to be fun, he assured himself, this total annihilation of Chocobo Head's mind. Destroying beliefs always was. If he got the Black Materia back, so much the better.

"Let's find Sephiroth!"

'_Welcome to my parlour,_'

**Said the spider to the fly.**

This was going to be so much fun.

* * *

He'd quite liked Nibelheim, before he found Mother in the basement. After that it had just gone downhill. He'd never been too fond of the inhabitants anyway. He was incredibly impressed with the quality of illusion, although it would take more than thumbscrews to get him to admit it to Jenova. She hadn't been the kindest of mental manipulators in extracting the memory.

"Nibelheim..." Yes, his supposition had been proven correct. Whiny Girl was a genius.

"This is an illusion Sephiroth made up. He's trying to confuse us. It'll be all right. As long as we know it's an illusion, there's nothing to be afraid of. Come on, let's keep going." Where had his helpless, hopeless Chocobo Head gone? If he kept up this calming, brave-the-face-of-danger act Sephiroth might just mistake him for a real protagonist.

**Loading characters… Sephiroth… SOLDIER… two cannon fodder. Complete.**

"Cloud's not here..." Of course he was. There was one standing right next to them, and another hidden under a helmet. These people really ought to think before they opened their mouths.

"Stop... Sephiroth..."

"This is so stupid." Sephiroth frowned. It was not stupid. This was fun, fun, fun!

**Changing scenery… Don't stand there, you'll be in the middle of a burning building when they can finally see you.**

"Cloud... It's just an illusion... don't worry about it." Should he be happy or annoyed Whiny Girl had tagged along? It was torturing both at the same time for different reasons… that was good, wasn't it?

"What's next?"

**Scenery loaded.**

Had he been a more malicious man, he might have found something extremely funny in the way Whiny Girl's eyes widened and how she looked close to vomiting at seeing Nibelheim in flames once more. As it was, he found it merely vaguely entertaining. "Stop it already!" She did however, say the funniest of things. So funny, he might not kill her quickly after all. Begging for mercy had always amused him.

"...This is what actually happened five years ago. But... It's probably not me that's going to come out of the Shinra mansion. He's going to try and show us another stupid illusion. See... didn't I tell you?" Silly puppet. Since when had Sephiroth lied to him? Except in the matter of the true reason the planet was being destroyed, naturally.

"Hey, it's you! You're still sane, right?" Sephiroth stifled a snicker of pure amusement. Zack and the word 'sane' didn't usually frequent the same sentence together. "Then come over here and help me!"

"I don't want to watch this... Cloud... don't watch." Perhaps he should blind her. Then she wouldn't have to watch anything and ruin _his_ entertainment.

"...What's wrong, Tifa? I told you before, right? As long as we know that it's just an illusion, there's no need to be scared." Poor, poor Chocobo Head. "Sephiroth! I know you're listening! I know what you want to say! That I wasn't in Nibelheim five years ago. That's it, isn't it?"

Well, no, not exactly, but close enough. "I see you finally understand." Now that was most definitely a lie. It wouldn't be fun at all if Chocobo head already understood what the illusions were meant to show him. No fun at all, and Sephiroth would have had to kill them all to make up for the lost entertainment.

"What you're trying to say is that you want to confuse me, right? But... even making me see those things won't affect me. I remember it all. The heat of the fire... the pain in my body... and in my heart!" Heart? He hadn't been aware Nibelheim had meant that much to him.

"Oh, is that so?" He'd received the distinct impression Chocobo Head had been extremely reluctant to visit. He frowned. Puppets didn't have feelings anyway. "You are just a puppet... You have no heart... and cannot feel any pain... How can there be any meaning in the memory of such a being? What I have shown you is reality. What you remember, that is the illusion. ...Do you understand?" Well, obviously the answer was going to be an emphatic 'no' but it never hurt to ask.

"I don't want to understand." Ah. That would explain it neatly, why Chocobo Head had been so resolutely ignorant when he tried to explain things. "But, I want to ask you one thing. Why... why are you doing this?"

'_Haircut. Boredom. Mother. Amusement. The list is endless._' Let no one say Sephiroth didn't have a feel for knowing the right response to the right situation. "I want to take you back to your real self. The one who gave me the Black Materia that day... Who would have ever thought a failed experiment would prove so useful? Hojo would die if he knew." Because Hojo was an idiot. Sephiroth had long suspected that there'd never been a point to the experiments beside Hojo's own amusement, and the fact that he'd failed to realise the potential of his Puppet both annoyed and relieved him. Chocobo Head would have been even more useless if Hojo had persisted in trying to make him into another Clone. The thought of another drooling idiot in a black cape was enough to give him a mild breakdown.

"_Hojo_? What does he have to do with me?" Sephiroth understood the horror of that exclamation quite clearly. It was a terrifying thought, that Hojo was responsible for anything in your life. Worse if it was true.

"Five years ago you were..." He paused. "...constructed by Hojo, piece by piece, right after Nibelheim was burnt. A puppet made up of vibrant Jenova cells, her knowledge, and the power of the Mako. An incomplete Sephiroth-clone. Not even given a number. ...That is your reality." Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say 'reconstructed'. The original Chocobo Head would have been almost useless to use as a puppet after all. So what to do, when that was the only material available? Tear it down and rebuild it again. Usually, however, the subject was remade to be superior to previously, and Sephiroth had his doubts about this in regards to Chocobo Head.

"Cloud... Don't listen to him... Close your ears! Close your eyes!"

"What's wrong, Tifa? I'm not affected by it. ...I wasn't paying attention to him." Chocobo Head was going to give him an apoplexy one of these days. Not paying attention. To him!

"All that talk of Hojo constructing you is a lie. Don't we have our memories together?" Oh, that was hilarious. What memories together? "Being kids together, starlit nights..."

"... Tifa..." That was her _name_, was it? You learnt something new everyday in this business. He'd never imagined an ant could have a proper name. "Why are you so worried and scared by those words? Hmm. Shall I show everyone here what's in your heart?" Wasn't that obvious? He grinned wryly, chuckling with amusement at the look of horror on her face. "...You look like you're not feeling well." '_Sit down, relax, have some tea. Don't say another word though, you're helping my case admirably, and I'm sure that's not your intention._'

"...Tifa? Is Sephiroth right?"

'_Of course I am!_' Damn, it never took this long with real Clones to explain that he knew best.

Chocobo Head frowned. "Why are you so scared? Don't worry about me. I'm all right. No matter how confused I am, I'll never believe a word that Sephiroth says." Wonderful. The perks of being someone's role model seemed to have vanished in recent years. What good was it, if you couldn't use your position in their esteem to make them believe anything that you said? Sephiroth sighed heavily, earning himself a glare from Chocobo Head before he continued, "It's true that sometimes I can't figure out who I am. There's a lot of things muddled up in my memories. But, Tifa... But you said 'Long time no see, Cloud' right? Those words will always support me. I am the one you grew up with. I'm Cloud of Nibelheim. No matter how much I lose faith in myself, that is the truth. That's why you shouldn't be so scared. No matter what anyone else says to me, it's your attitude that counts..." God, was his puppet a screwed up thing. He really was going to have to fix him, if there was to be any chance of him killing Jenova.

If Chocobo Head had been any good whatsoever at reading body language and the silent messages women were prone to give with their eyes, he might have realised something was terribly wrong as the girl struggled valiantly with what to say. "No, that's not true, Cloud..." she said at last, desperately, clearly wishing she could be anywhere but facing that terrifying look of puzzlement he _knew_ the boy was making.

"What's not? Aren't I the same Cloud you grew up with?" _That_ was what wasn't true, because of course, they hadn't really grown up together at all, any more than Sephiroth had grown with a loving family and a childhood sweetheart, and therefore all trust in that connection was misplaced. Call it omnipotence, if you like. Or perhaps he was just exceptionally good at reading the situation. Why did he even bother trying to explain these things when he was so clearly being ignored?

"That's not what I mean... I don't know how to say it... Cloud, I need some time... Just give me a little time..." To say what? 'I'm sorry, but I've been lying to you all along: I know you weren't at Nibelheim five years ago – I was there at the gate and I would have seen you, dammit – and I haven't said anything because…'? She was a silent accomplice in Chocobo Head's delusions…

**So use it against her.**

Tear it down; build it back up. He had, of course, learned from a master in taking things apart.

"Cloud... Don't blame Tifa. The ability to change one's looks, voice, and words, is the power of Jenova. Inside of you, Jenova has merged with Tifa's memories, creating you. Out of Tifa's memory... A boy named Cloud might've just been a part of them." Yes, he was, a little boy with hair like a electrocuted porcupine who lived next door. And no doubt the two of them would end up having 2.5 children (he'd be responsible for the .5 bit, being quite happy to halve any offspring) and a wonderful marriage, despite the monumental psychological problems of one and quiet compliance to such delusions of the other. What the _children_ would learn, growing up in such an environment, he shuddered to think. He was sure Aeris would have made a better wife, if she'd had the chance. The woman had dated Zack and managed to get him to be serious about it – she could handle anything.

**You're getting off-track again.**

'_Yes, Maman._'

"Cloud… please don't think right now."

Chocobo Head?_ Think_? This called for one of those maniacal laughs. "Think, Cloud?" Without his brain, shorting out? A miracle. **"…Cloud? Oh, excuse me, you never had a name…**" Well, not in Sephiroth's opinion, until he'd decided to christen his favourite puppet, pet and idiot 'Chocobo Head'.

"Shut up... Sephiroth."

"You _still_ don't understand?" His patience was wearing thin. His throat hurt. And still the boy steadfastly refused to break. Happy as he was that his puppet had such wellsprings of self-denial, it was beginning to annoy him. That was never a good sign. "Then... Do you remember the picture that we took before we headed for Mt. Nibel? ...Tifa, you remember, right? But there is no way he would know. Now... what happened to that picture?" He made a show of looking around, before walking over to the photographer he'd taken such pleasure in gutting. "...is this it? ...Do you want to see it? It turned out pretty good." Sycophants. Why did they always manage to take a good photo?

"Cloud... don't..." If he had to hear another high-pitched whine of 'Cloud... don't...' so help him, he was going to kill her.

Chocobo Head chewed his lip nervously, eyes glued to the photo. "I... should be in the picture. Even if I'm not in there, no worry. This is just an illusory world Sephiroth made up." Sooner or later, the boy had to run out of rationalisations. He could only fool himself so far.

'..._Wherever Zack is, I hope he finds this farce amusing, because I'm losing patience._'

He watched the blond's expression closely as he looked at the photograph. Any moment now that façade would falter… "...Just as I thought. This picture's a fake. The truth is in my memory." Damn it all, how could one person be so stubborn! "...Five years ago, I came back to Nibelheim, to inspect the reactor. I was sixteen. The town hadn't changed at all. What did I do...? Oh yeah... I spent the night and went to the reactor in Mt. Nibel. I was excited about it. Because that was my first mission after becoming First Class in SOLDIER." That was going just a little too far. There was a momentary lapse in the connections in his brain. Sephiroth could almost see the error sign flash in front of the blue eyes. Now this was better. "...SOLDIER, First Class? ...SOLDIER? When did I enter SOLDIER?" _Much_ better. "How did I join SOLDIER? Why... why can't I remember? I'm... I'm... That's right...I didn't have to worry about it, because I was..."

"...Cloud?" His hand strayed to the hilt of the Masamune, but no 'don't' was uttered, so he let the opportunity pass with a regretful sigh.

"Let's go, Tifa. I'm... I'm all right."

'_Chaos, panic and disorder. My work here is done._'

* * *

Barret had been tapping his foot impatiently (well, he liked to think it was impatient, but everyone else knew it was nervous). "Are Cloud and the others awright? But what's up with that? One little piece of materia, destroying the planet..."

**First things first… let's take out the extras.**

"What the...? The hell was that? H-huh? Hey... Guys! Where are we? Where did we end up?"

Dolt. Couldn't he see they weren't there? Or… they weren't as far as he was concerned. Now… who would he believe most to come running?

**The girl.**

He was afraid of that. It was the most logical choice, after all. They were close, weren't, they? And nobody else would be so ridiculously concerned about Chocobo Head's welfare as to run away and get help. But...

**Stop stalling just because you'll no longer be able to tease the puppet about dressing in drag.**

'_Ugh. Fine. …what's his name?_'

**…** **Barret.**

Worried face. She'd have that worried, ashen face she always wore when Chocobo Head reached one of his mini-meltdowns. He breathed in deeply, savouring the last few nanoseconds he had before he debased himself completely in the name of destroying the world.

**And… action!**

'_Oh, very funny._'

"Barret, you're here! I'm so glad!"

"Tifa! Something's weird here. It got pitch black all of a sudden, and everyone disappeared!" Well done, Captain Obvious. Evidently Chocobo Head had picked those of similar or even lower intelligence to himself. ..._why_ had Whiny Girl never complained about the attire? He was freezing! The woman had to be a masochist – not content pining after Chocobo Head she had to freeze while she was doing it, the silly girl.

**Oh for-**

"**Everyone's waiting! Cloud's in trouble! Please come. Help us! Over there!**" Stupid lines. Stupid clothes. He was _never_ going to live this down.

"Yea... yeah! I don't know what's goin' on," Oh, _big_ surprise, "but let's just get on with it."

Sephiroth watched him out of sight, his mind promising a very bloody vengeance upon Jenova and all those he felt to be responsible for his current situation. "... And remember..." Please god, let there never be a situation where he had to morph into a scantily-clad, well-endowed woman in arctic conditions again. "...the Black Materia!"

* * *

"Mr. President... I've got a bad feeling about this place..." Scarlet, having bad feelings about a place? Hm. That must mean it would be no good for tryst. What a terrible shame for her. Well, there _were _immensely powerful creatures designed to destroy everything in the walls; maybe that had something to do with it.

"Hmm... maybe we should go back to our ship now. We need to prepare for the inspection anyway."

Something was most definitely missing... Now what was it...?

**The Puppet, you fool!**

Shit. Stupid puppet, couldn't walk fast in a straight line! Stupid little...!

"Hey! Where did you come from?"

"...don't know..." Earth-shattering news. Chocobo Head didn't know! "This place is going to get rough. Better leave things to me and get out of here while you still can."

"Leave things to you? Hmph... I don't know what you mean." Wasn't it obvious, Rufus? Translation: This is none of your business. Go away. Well... Sephiroth's version was slightly more profanely worded, but he imagined that was the gist of what Chocobo Head was saying.

"This is where the Reunion is happening. Where everything begins and ends." As he'd said before: an insight almost enough to be mistaken for intelligence. He paused, watching the Whiny Girl's response to the little Reunion statement.

Up until this point in time, Sephiroth had never seen a practical function for Silence, except to infuriate Shinra officials who wanted a full complement of fingers and toes and so never accused him. But thank all-merciful god for mute spells for Whiny Girl. He couldn't stand another five seconds punctuated by her voice. So as she desperately wailed, "Cloud!" he turned his attention back to the problem of materia of the world-destroying kind. Now, the Materia was held by the black guy, who might just need a nudge to hand it over…

"Hey! We're here to help you!"

"Thanks... Barret. Where's the Black Materia?"

"Cloud!" '_Shout all you like, he can't hear you_.' He was having trouble controlling the very childish urge to stick his tongue out at her, even if she couldn't see it.

"It's safe. I have it." Yes, that was really safe. Honestly, these people were _hopeless_.

"I'll take it from here. Give me the ... Black Materia."

He kept an eye on Whiny Girl the entire time, watching the puzzlement and confusion gradually give way to fear… who would have thought a Silence spell could be such fun? "You can't hear my voice?" …Sherlock was evidently in no danger from Whiny Girl's razor sharp intuition.

"You alright?" What difference did that make exactly? And since when had Chocobo Head been 'alright'? Hadn't they noticed something in his brain was wired wrong? Some friends they were. "Okay then, here. Had a lot of pressure holding this thing." Oh yes, the pressure cooker. He'd almost forgotten that. Better write it down before he forgot again. He'd pulled the list out absently and added it after his name. Two methods decided…

"No! Don't! Please stop Cloud!" When would she get the point? And it was going to be slice and dice for her, most definitely.

"Thanks. ...leave the rest to me."

Sephiroth had never argued with Chocobo Head in his mind before, and it was unsettling, to say the least. It was also not something he personally wanted to repeat – it meant he got a true picture of what Chocobo Head was feeling and thinking, and that wasn't fair. Sephiroth was a very fair person, so long as things went eventually in his favour. Fine. Chocobo Head could give his apologies, so long as he solemnly swore that at some unspecified point in the future he'd kill Hojo.

"Everyone, thanks for everything. And... I'm sorry." A respectful, if tired, nod to Rufus and coterie. "...Sorry." Another to his own group. "...Sorry. Especially you, Tifa. I'm really sorry. You've been so good to me... I don't know what to say... I never lived up to being 'Cloud'." It was funny, how even though he could apologise extensively to her, he could do it without ever really looking at her. Or it would have been, if Sephiroth hadn't been more concerned with savouring the beautiful images of Hojo's horrifically messy demise. "Tifa... Maybe one day you'll meet the real 'Cloud'." His attention snapped back to the blond. Oh dear. He'd clearly misinterpreted something there.

Hojo did something Sephiroth had heard rarely, and always hid in the wake of. He laughed. Even the Weapon in the wall shuddered. "This is perfect! It means that my experiment was a complete success." Well, there was always a first time for everything, Sephiroth supposed. "What number were you? Huh? Where is your tattoo?"

"Professor Hojo... I don't have a number. You didn't give me one because you said I was a failed experiment."

"What the-? You mean only a failure made it here?" What was he talking about? Chocobo Head was the only success.

"Professor... please give me a number. Please, Professor..." Damn. He really had broken him.

**You should be more careful with your toys. Bring him up here, it'll give Hojo time for plot exposition. **

Well, he couldn't have wanted to stay around Hojo longer than five seconds anyway. And even if by some highly illogical chance he did, Sephiroth didn't want him to stay longer than five seconds around Hojo.

"Who... was that?" Maybe Rufus and Chocobo Head really were related. They shared the same memory span after all. Hadn't they fought on the roof shortly after President Shinra had… expired? Of course, he couldn't be sure, the world had already narrowed down by that point to the bottom of a shot glass…

"He's a Sephiroth clone I created after the real Sephiroth died five years ago."

'_Died? I beg to disagree_.'

"Jenova cells and Mako, with my knowledge and skills, have been combined with science and nature to bring him to life. ...I'm not wild about the failure part, but the Jenova Reunion Theory has now been proven. You see, even if Jenova's body is dismembered, it will eventually become one again. That's what is meant by Jenova's Reunion to start. Five years have passed, and now the Clones have begun to return. I thought the Clones would begin to gather at Midgar where Jenova is stored. But my predictions were not entirely correct. Jenova itself began to move away from the Shinra Building. But being a genius that I am –" Sephiroth somehow managed to choke on his own tongue, "– I soon figured it out. You see it was all Sephiroth's doing. Sephiroth is not just content to diffuse his will into the Lifestream; he wants to manipulate the Clones itself."

Chocobo Head seemed to think about it for a moment, tilting his head back, and hugging his knees even closer to his chest. "Yes, that was how it got started."

Seemingly deaf to anything but his own voice, Hojo blithely continued. "I wondered where the clones were going, but I was never able to figure it out."

The Chocobo Head nodded in agreement as he stood up, somehow failing to notice he was standing on the ceiling. "I couldn't figure it out, either." Well, no great surprises there, on both counts, what with Hojo being – how had Rufus put it? – a second rate scientist (although a first-rate torturer) and Chocobo Head being… well, _Chocobo Head_.

"The one thing that I did know was that Sephiroth was at their final destination." It really took a genius to work that one out, did it?

It was quite amazing how Chocobo Head managed to follow Hojo's reasoning. Why was he not capable of that when Sephiroth was talking? He only supposed that this was irrefutable proof the boy had been driven mad. "I wasn't pursuing Sephiroth. I was being summoned by Sephiroth. All the anger and hatred I bore him, made it impossible for me to ever forget him. That and what he gave me."

"..." Sometimes... sometimes even Sephiroth could be confused when it came to the Puppet.

"Sephiroth? I'm here. And I brought you the Black Materia. Show yourself to me. Where are you? Sephiroth... So we finally meet again."

'…_A pleasure to meet you, _at last' He might have been disturbed by the similarities to his first meeting with Mother, if he had actually been able to recall it.

**Don't move, you'll fall-**

"Did you see it! It's Sephiroth! So he IS here! This is perfect! Both Jenova's Reunion and Sephiroth's will! They won't be diffused into the Lifestream, but gathered here!" Another bout that special Hojo-brand maniacal laughter, that kind could drive hardened SOLDIERs whimpering to their mothers, and often did – anyone in their right mind would rather face Sephiroth in a temper than Hojo in laughter.

**-through the materia structure.**

"What are you so happy about, Professor? You know what this means, don't you? Cloud has the Black Materia! Sephiroth is going to summon Meteor! Every single person is going to die!" Damn. The Silence spell had worn off. Damn. And he couldn't move anymore, so he couldn't replace it.

He'd been mistaken all these years – _this_ was torture.

'_Mother, this is a little off-topic… this is my real body, correct? … what exactly happened to my legs?_'

**Ah. Well…**

"Whatever I say is too little... too late... We must evacuate. I want you all to come with me. There is still much more I want to hear."

**They… it takes a long time for a body to be repaired after dissolving in mako and being put back together in a completely different location.**

'_This is where the Lifestream is strongest. Shouldn't it be easier here?_'

**Um… no.**

"Yo! Cloud! Knock it off!" The day with the pressure cooker and the Mr. T wannabe couldn't come soon enough.

'…_You've just been lying through your figurative teeth, haven't you?_'

**…yes.**

"Cloud-!" And any second now would come the pained wail of 'noooooooooo!' Five… four… yes, thank you for the Black Materia, wonderful job… three… two…whoa, those Weapons were even bigger than he'd thought they were… one… any second now…

"Oh, _shit_!"

Close enough.


	15. The Sephiroth Guide to Life

Sephiroth was walking in the Lifestream. Or perhaps that was incorrect, as walking implied a destination was somehow involved. So... Sephiroth wandered.

He fully believed that 'hate' (and love) was an overused word, and that excessive use of either devalued them. So he didn't hate the Lifestream he was stuck in.

He loathed it, with every fibre of his being not already consumed with excessive abhorrence for certain personages (Hojo, mostly). He hated its blankness, hated its unreality, hated the way his voice distorted and echoed... but first and foremost in the Lifestream's failings was that there was no caffeine. How was he expected to act as a rational adult when there was no coffee? Secondly, he couldn't find his sword anywhere. He'd be more concerned (about the unfortunates who found it, not the sword) if he hadn't exhausted himself trying to ensure the Chocobo Head's now vegetative body's safe arrival at Mideel. It hadn't been helped by the fact that even comatose, he seemed determined to hit his head on every passing object, whether that was a glacier, or an extremely pissed off Weapon.

Sephiroth was not best pleased. So he'd abandoned the job five miles from shore, hoped rather pettily that brain damage resulted (he forgot for a moment that he already considered the Chocobo Head brain damaged) and had begun storming through the Lifestream in a huff, because even Lifestream was preferably to be stuck (possibly naked) in a condensed materia structure (possibly without legs).

So now he wandered, with the haunted look of a man dreaming while he's awake (rabid bunny rabbits, on crystal meth. Something about rabbits set him on edge). This was also the reason he paid no mind to the miniature Chocobo Head clinging to his coat and being dragged along as he walked. It was all a hallucination.

Or it _was_, until the little bastard bit him when he tried sleepily to extract his coat from it's grubby clutches.

* * *

"So." At the sharply exhaled monosyllable, the spiritual representation of one Cloud Strife, aged eight, looked up, glaring resentfully through a black eye. Of the two of them, he had arguably come out the worst from the fight, although Sephiroth was having a hard time speaking after being strangled with a sock. "I see my referrals to you as a child were entirely more accurate than even I realised."

At the perceived (or rather, accepted) insult, the child was instantly on his feet, angrily pushing the mop of spikes he liked to call his hair aside out of his eyes. "I am not a child!" At the stubborn proclamation only a young child or an idiot could make, Sephiroth winced, and wondered briefly, just what he had done besides coveting a pair of scissors that was worth this.

"Evidently." he said dryly, watching the waif stamp its foot on the non-floor of the lifestream. "Because you certainly don't look or act like one."

At this, the boy looked up sharply, peering up at him suspiciously through the mess of hair. "Are you making fun of me?" He demanded. His aggrieved tone implied this to be the greatest insult possible, one to be revenged with every weapon at his disposal. This was mainly an impressive set of teeth, and any item available that could be forced to make a noose.

"No." He said flatly, contemplating prodding him to see if he toppled over.

"Good." The boy declared, satisfied, returning to his solemn task of prodding the floor. Looking at him, Sephiroth wondered how on the earth he'd ever reached the age to try and join SOLDIER, let alone kill him. It was not an exaggeration to say he looked like a strong wind would blow him over. It was an understatement. A mild _breeze_ could probably pick him up and throw him into the wall with enough force to make a dent. And this – _this_ – was the person who was going to kill him? Sephiroth was having a hard time crushing the need to laugh.

"So, Chocobo Head," He remarked, sitting, crossing his legs and joining the boy in his task, "What do we do now?"

"I'm not a chocobo!" The blond yelled indignantly. Recoiling, Sephiroth was forcibly reminded why he had never wanted children. "Jus' cuz my hair's spiky!" The blond's indignation rapidly dissolved into a wail as he patted his hair desperately in an attempt to make it lie flat.

"No, no," Sephiroth interrupted frantically, in a soothing tone of voice (or as close to it as a six-foot-one war god could get). "It's just because it's blond _and_ spiky."

There was complete silence.

The boy burst into tears.

Sephiroth looked at him in total bewilderment (such a rare occurrence he'd never known it to happen before). Under the continuing onslaught of tears there was only one response from the beleaguered general.

"Bugger."

* * *

"...of course, he never listens to _me._" the blond confided, giving the distinct impression of a bird ruffling its feathers in disapproval. "Idiot." Sephiroth nodded sympathetically. After what had felt like several of the most exhausting hours of his life, he'd struck gold in his frantic attempts to get the boy to shut up by bringing up the topic of Chocobo Head and his actions. Apparently the casual remark of him being a schizophrenic wasn't too far off the mark either. According to the boy, he was mostly relegated to the deeper part of Chocobo Head's conscious, only coming to the fore when Chocobo Head was knocked out. This was a pity, Sephiroth decided, as he was definitely more intelligent than his in-control counterpart.

"Why?" The blond asked abruptly. Sephiroth blinked, disappointed to have to reassess his opinion. '_Stupid after all_.'

"Why what?" He snapped, carefully dragging back the urge to kill that had been briefly misplaced during their conversation.

"Why... everything? Why kill the Planet, n' that?" The wide eyes held nothing but curiosity.

"Have you never listened to any of those speeches I make periodically?" He said irritably, wondering what would happen if he ended up strangling the boy in this place.

"Well, yeah. But that can't be the _real_ reason. Those are obviously made up. So why?"

"Reason number one, I want Jenova killed. I expect you to help me achieve this goal during your own quest. So don't disappoint me." He punctuated the words with a glare that made Chocobo-Head-the-little pale beyond even his normal milky white complexion. "Second, I want various Shinra employees killed. This is a good cover, and I expect it to occur. Seeing as I'll be too busy wiping out pretty much all life on earth, I'm making it your job."

"But the reason?" He pleaded, blue eyes demanding.

"I want a haircut, okay!"

Throughout the Lifestream there was complete and utter silence.

"A _haircut_?" Strife's elfin child's face screwed up in incomprehension. "That's not a good reason. It should be something, I dunno, bigger an' worthier."

"To die in the cause of a haircut is a worthy thing."

"No it's not! Haircuts are _easy_. It should be something tragic like... like... a yearning for acceptance, an' being mislead and lied to and manipulated all the time when you only _really_ wanted to be human. Something all grand and epical like that. Not 'cause of a _haircut_."

"Epical is not a word. The word is 'epic'. And I want a haircut and that's that!"

"But Sephy-!"

"My name," Sephiroth said, drawing himself up to his full height, the temperature dropping a few degrees, "Is _Sephiroth_. Not 'Sephy', not 'Sephi-beibi', not even 'Seph'. _Sephiroth_." The blond scowled in distaste.

"But it's got so many letters! 'Sephy' is easier. I like 'Sephy'!"

"And I'd like to shish-kebab you and roast you on a barbecue but do I do it?"

"Yes." The blond said stoutly, crossing his arms and glaring with as much force as he could muster. This, looking eight years old and even then small for his age, not to mention slightly effeminate, was not much. Sephiroth on the other hand, had age, status, and the general 'Oh. My. God.' factor on his side. Instantly, the boy's face crumpled. Sephiroth's eyes widened in horror.

"No! Don't cry! Anything but that! Oh shitshitshit!"

Looking up at him through carefully splayed fingers, the blond observed his reaction with triumphant satisfaction. Sephiroth didn't notice however, covering his ears and digging his nails into his temples as he paced frantically, searching the nothingness for something, anything that would stop the onslaught.

"Dammit! Look, call me whatever you want, just don't cry! Anything but the crying!"

"Okay Sephy!" The blond chirped, instantly brightening to lunge forward and attach himself to Sephiroth's leg in a bone-crushing hug. Sephiroth flinched as he heard an almost inaudible 'crack'. '_Dear God, what did I do to deserve this?_' and '_Do you really hate me this much?_' were the thoughts foremost in his mind.

He swore he could hear the Lifestream laughing.

The bastards.

* * *

"I like the idea of you being a tragic Fallen Angel." Strife shook his head resolutely. "I shall continue to believe in that." Sephiroth 'hmphed' but gave way. Hell, it wasn't as if the boy would actually remember any of this. He wouldn't even be in charge when he woke up. If he woke up. They'd spent a long time in the Lifestream after all.

"What's so bad about your hair anyway?" God, he was sick of the lightning fast changes of topic. "I like it! It's pretty!" Sephiroth dove to one side just in time to avoid Cloud's lunge for his hair.

"That's exactly the point!" He snapped, circling warily, attempting to judge when the animal would make its next attack.

"But haircuts are boring! They happen all the time!"

"Not to me." He eyed the blond, reaching out and tugging his ponytail before the boy even realised he'd moved. "And evidently, not to you either."

"Does so." Another abnormally fast pounce for his hair with the unerring accuracy of a child intending to annoy.

"Does not." He pin-wheeled frantically in an attempt to regain his balance from being knocked sideways.

"Does so!" A momentary lull for both parties to glare ineffectually.

"Does not!" Sephiroth stuck out his tongue.

"…Does… so!" It took the blond several moments to recover from his surprise.

"Do-… I cannot _believe_ I have sunk to your level."

Strife said nothing, only smiled innocently.

* * *

"Why'd you kill Aeris anyway?" The blond was tracing the scars on his knees with apparent fascination. Sephiroth watched him out sheer boredom. It occurred to him absently that he'd never seen scars close-up before, having never received any of his own. He had almost reached the point of asking the blond how he received them – out of boredom, mind, not because he had actually wished to know anything more of the boy, and certainly not because extended silence when around an eight year old Cloud Strife unnerved him. Boredom only.

"Why do you care? Just how long exactly did you know her?"

The blond sniffed disapprovingly, looking up and fixing Sephiroth with an impatient stare. "That's not the point."

Sephiroth rested his chin in his hands and stared at the blond, who shifted nervously and tried to avoid his gaze. Unsuccessfully, naturally. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" He was thinking of food now. When was the last time he'd eaten? Were there no restaurants in the afterlife? Bastards, all of them. No food. No coffee. No wine. Couldn't they provide for their dead souls? No wonder people were terrified of dying, if this was the service they could expect.

"Stare at me like you're going to eat me. Are you hungry?" The boy abandoned all pretence of calm and scooted backwards.

"...Yes, but that's beside the point. Didn't you want to know why Pinky kicked it?"

"...uh..." He tugged his ponytail thoughtfully. The head scratching was a nervous habit he'd picked up from Zack, as Sephiroth recalled. "Well... you kinda stabbed her in the back."

He felt his eye twitch. "The reasons, boy, the _reasons_."

The blond brightened now that Sephiroth was no longer picturing a four course meal when he looked at him. "You mean there were _reasons_?"

Tension headaches should be a thing of the living, Sephiroth sighed irritably, closing his eyes and trying to wish it away. Although perhaps it made sense. Death seemed to be such a stressful existence. "Of course there were reasons. Honestly, the girl wanted to die. She was praying for Holy, right? And 'if a soul reaches the Planet asking for Holy...' Just look at it this way – I helped the process along a little."

There was a quiet sniff. Sephiroth's sixth sense for danger kicked in, klaxons blaring, at red alert. "Look, if it makes you feel any better-" Sephiroth said that with the utmost reluctance "-_I _wanted to kill the Busty Bitch, but Jenova said no."

"Who's Bu-"

Sephiroth slapped him sharply round the head. "Language!"

The blond shook his head wildly. "But you just -"

"Do as I say, not as I do!"

"That doesn't make sense!" He wailed in exasperation.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. "Of course it does. Everything I say makes sense."

Strife imitated Sephiroth's action to the best of his ability. "Riiight. So who is B-"

"Busty Bitch, aka Whiny Girl, aka the one with the skimpy clothing. I tried killing her in the Nibelheim reactor and for some unknown reason, I failed." He paused, eyeing the boy suspiciously. "Please don't tell me you had anything to do with that."

Strife shuffled nervously, and decided it would be prudent to do as Sephiroth said and not admit it. "...um...do you mean Tifa?"

Sephiroth scowled threateningly. "If I knew her name, why do you think I'd call her Whiny Girl?"

"You call me Chocobo Head," the blond pointed out reasonably. Sephiroth's scowl deepened. Wisely, the blond didn't continue with whatever it was he had intended to say, and went back to the original topic instead. "Tifa doesn't wear skimpy clothing."

"What planet are you on? Have you been paying attention _at_ _all_ to _anything_? Just- come on, look at her!"

"I like her." He said, innocently oblivious. "She's nice."

"You have no taste." Sephiroth sighed. "She looks like a Midgar hooker."

"What's a-"

"Don't. Ask."

The boy pouted, and returned to studying his knees. Sephiroth allowed himself the luxury of strangling air. There was a long almost-silence while the Lifestream snickered at his expense, secure in the knowledge he could do nothing to hurt it.

The boy sighed heavily, evidently back on the topic of a certain pink gnat. "...'s not fair."

Sephiroth made a choked noise of exasperation. "Whoever told you life was fair?" The boy was Strife, he decided, as he grabbed one shoulder and spun him around. Chocob Head was too empty-headed to give him such headaches, and the chocobo was fluffy and lovable. So this was Strife, and he wasn't sure which one was going to give him an aneurism first. "Rule number one to Sephiroth's Guide to Life: life is not fair. So play dirty."

Strife blinked.

"Rule number two: When the men in white coats come calling for you – and they will, I've no doubt of that – don't call the place they're taking you to the land of magic white straitjackets. It only makes them drive faster."

"_Trust him on that one,_" chimed in a voice from the collective conscious of the Lifestream, "_He's speaking from experience._"

"Oh very funny," He snapped. "If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you." He turned back to the boy, who had abandoned all pretence of disinterest, and was watching him with the slightly worried look of someone who knows he's faced with a madman, and is only just realising there is no escape. "Rule number three – and this _is_ experience speaking – pillage _before_ you burn. Rule number four: If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, riddle them with bullets. That one's Shinra company policy."

"I use a sword." Strife pointed out.

Sephiroth nodded. "That's why the second part is 'Those who live by the sword get shot by those who don't.'"

"Oh." The blond swallowed hard, and began carefully searching for avenues of escape.

"Rule number seven: Don't be irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted. That's why I was permanently stuck with a desk job. Rule number eight: Never tell the truth to those who are unworthy. That's everybody." He added, seeing the perplexed look.

The boy nodded, and unobtrusively continued backing away.

"Rule number nine: Professional soldiers are predictable, but the world is full of amateurs." He paused for a moment, sighing. "And finally: beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye." He grinned, and prodded the blond's own black eye, received earlier that day, which _still_ hadn't disappeared. "Just like that."

"Well, it's been nice," the blond said nervously, carefully avoiding the poke, "But I think I'm going to run away now."

* * *

"...Hey." He could have sworn he _heard_ the blond's blink.

"...yeah?"

Sephiroth nodded his head at the scene unfolding in the distance. Or non-distance in this place. Or... whatever. "Isn't that you?"

Sephiroth prided himself on the fact that he could tell Chocobo Head apart from the crowd just by the shade of his hair (telling him apart by hairstyle was just too easy). So he was certain the curled up figure was Strife, and simply wanted to point it out to the blond.

"Yeah. I think it's time for my job as a spirit guide."

"...?" There were few times when Sephiroth's words failed him, and they _always_ seemed to be situations pertaining to the child. He was beginning to get very annoyed with the boy. Not annoyed enough to kill him, but very annoyed nonetheless.

"It's okay, Sephy! I'll be back before you know it!"

"Please, don't put yourself out on my account." He stopped, realised what was wrong, and scowled fiercely. This, with Sephiroth, was actually more of an expression of affection, as the fact that he actually had to force the ferocity often meant he was valiantly trying to mask amused exasperation. Not that anyone even _Zack_, had realised. "…Get off my shoulders." He determinedly ignored the pout he just _knew_ the blond was making. "...and don't try pouting. It won't work."

"Sephy!"

"Get. Off."

With great reluctance, the boy slid down Sephiroth's back, which was perfectly fine, until he realised Strife was now clinging to his leg.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Don't wanna go!"

"Let go!" He shook his leg frantically, attempting to dislodge what suddenly seemed more like a limpet wearing a yellow hedgehog as a hat rather than a boy.

"No!" Why had his ears not imploded yet?

"Look," he said, suddenly realising what a picture the situation made. He had clung to the fragile remains of his dignity far too long to lose it all to a blond waif who looked like an undernourished chocobo. "Let's be reasonable about this. If you don't help your..." He stopped, confused, before beginning again. "If you don't help the Chocobo Head, I'll win, won't I? I get to destroy the world, Jenova lives, and your body is a vegetable. Do you _really_ want that?"

With the utmost reluctance, Strife shook his head, his grip weakening just a little.

It was all Sephiroth needed. With one last shake, he managed to fling the boy off his leg and into the Chocobo Head's dreamscape.

"Don't forget!" He yelled after the boy - no, It. It, not Strife. Boy. It.

He paused, took out his favourite little doll, and studied it intensely. "I'm confused." He confessed, stroking the feather hair absently. "There are way too many of you, you know that?" He paused, before sighing extravagantly. "So… if the boy is Strife, the Chocobo Head is Chocobo Head, and Cloud is the chocobo…what's _your_ name?" He demanded, prodding the doll hard in the chest.

**Sephiroth. It's a doll**.

"Nice to see you again, Mother. Where have you been? And what's that got to do with anything?" He demanded suspiciously, hugging the doll protectively to his chest. Jenova regarded the stitched materia chip eyes that Sephiroth had spent hours carefully deliberating over. She hated that doll, almost as much as she hated the Puppet itself. Anything that distracted Lucretia's boy – he was not hers when he started talking to chocobos – was worth her most virulent hatred.

She shuddered. Her time was most definitely running out, if this sudden emotional overdrive was any indication. She had no emotion! She was the Vengeance of the Stars, the Crisis from the Skies! And she hated the doll, and pitied the silver-haired man cradling it. She would humour him for a while longer, she decided.

**A doll… Sephiroth, why does it need a name? **

"He's got no name! He must be hurt about that. And if he dies, he'll be nameless and go to hell… and-"

**Sephiroth. It is a _doll_. It can't hurt, does not feel pain, has no concept of the word. It can't die, it's an inanimate object! **

"You mean... he's immortal?"

**I mean it isn't alive in the first place! **

If human ears could droop, Sephiroth's were doing it. He was broken, poor child. "But he talks..." he protested weakly, his fingers tangling themselves nervously in the feathers making up the doll's hair.

**Sephiroth, for the love of god, of all the gods, take your medication. **

"They stopped giving it to me when I threw the doctor out of the window." He said brightly, forgetting the terrible implications of a doll's existence without a name. "That was... twenty-five years ago. If I am actually thirty years old now."

Jenova concentrated on breathing: In. Out. Arsenic. In. Out. Cyanide. In. Out. Nightshade.

"Mother," Sephiroth interrupted, dropping the doll out of shock. "You have _eyes..._"

**They do usually come along with a face, yes. **

"But... didn't you lose your head?"

**And just whose fault was that? If you must know –** Sephiroth shook his head desperately, but far too late – **here, where the Lifestream energy is strongest, I can harness it for my own ends. As such, I am recreating my body. **

Sephiroth suffered a violent but mercifully brief coughing fit.

**And so I no longer need any help. Your assistance was appreciated. **

"Wait a goddamned minute! My scissors!"

**Let me reiterate. Your assistance was appreciated. Go watch the Puppet's continuing attempt to try and kill you, if you seek something to do. **

Sephiroth groped vainly for something original to say in the face of such treachery that was not expletive and likely copyrighted to Cid Highwind. There was nothing. "Cloudy," Sephiroth snarled at last to the doll, "This means _War_."


	16. In the Lifestream

"What'cha doing?"

"Planning World Domination. Don't distract me."

The blond pursed his lips, rolled the right way up and studied his intent expression with a frown. "I thought you already had a plan of World Domination." He reached for the scrawled papers. Sephiroth batted him aside with a scowl.

"Fine. Matricide. Now Go. Away."

"But I just got back!" He sniffed. Sephiroth shuddered with revulsion and flung him a handkerchief before turning his attention back to the elaborately detailed Plan to Kill Mother XVI. Strife sighed at being ignored and kicked him in the shin.

'_I will not lose my temper. I will _not_ lose my temper. I will not_-'

"Sephy – you're... choking... me..."

"Oops," he said insincerely, loosening his grip on the blond's throat with heartfelt reluctance. The boy massaged his throat carefully and muttered something Sephiroth would have expected from a Turk, not an eight-year-old boy. Who taught the youth of today such profanity?

"What's 'matricide'?"

Sephiroth buried his head in his hands until he could look up without the urge to start crying tears of sheer exasperation assaulting him. "Matricide. Noun. From the Latin, _mater_ for mother; suffix, -cide. 1) The crime of killing one's mother, 2) One who is guilty of this."

"Oh." The boy rolled onto his back once more, staring at the nothingness of the Lifestream with all the intensity of a Nobel Prize winner on the brink of discovery. "Why'd you want to kill your mother? I thought you liked her. I like my mom," he added, eyes watering suspiciously.

"Well sadly, we can't all have mothers like yours." Sephiroth snapped, screwing up Plan XVI and beginning afresh. "Have you _seen_ Jenova, Strife?" he asked, carefully shredding the paper into confetti. "Tell me, why _wouldn't _I want to kill her?"

"I don't like her." Sephiroth was beginning to think that even though they managed to keep to the same topics, it was more as if they were concentrating on two different conversations at once. "She's all goopy."

Sephiroth stared. Then shrugged. "Good a reason as any."

"Can I go look for Aeris?"

Sephiroth closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. Then to fifty. "Why are you asking me? You want to do something, just do it. Just don't bring the pink thing near me."

"Okay, Sephy. I'm sure you'll have lots of catching up to do."

For all his fragility, the boy was abominably fast. '..._It exists to _torment_ me._'

"Try and find Zack while you're at!" He glared after it. The good news however, was that Strife would have to have the instincts of a homing pigeon to even get the right side of the equator he was on once he was out of sight.

...Why was he vaguely dissatisified with that?

He sighed, and settled back to more headache-inducing plans of matricidal madness.

* * *

This was most definitely not one of Sephiroth's better days. He'd given up elaborate plans after Plan XXVII, and was now simply amusing himself with keeping one eye on the live Chocobo Head's games, while simultaneously doodling various demises for Jenova (the most prominent among them involving anvils). He did this in the hope of quashing the faint stirrings of worry that the little Chocobo Head had not yet returned, quite forgetting he'd originally hoped for him to lose his way and stumble into a tar pit. Not that they had those in the Lifestream – it was merely an idle wish.

He turned his full attention on to the Chocobo Head, now up and about and giving him more migraines than ever. His eyes widened. "Oh, dear god."

Said Puppet suddenly hunched over with all the sudden force of the worst ever motion sickness attack he'd ever had (well, that was the obvious choice, though he hadn't had motion sickness for five years). Strangely, underneath the urge to vomit and the feeling that his head was being repeatedly sledgehammered, he thought he could almost hear a voice demanding what the hell he thought he was doing embarking on a sea battle when Meteor was hanging in the sky – didn't he realise there were Weapons down there? – and did he even _know_ how to pilot a submarine? The Apocalypse was coming anytime now and he was playing games!

"Sephy!"

No. It was not possible. The little bastard could not have found him again. No. No nonononono-

A blur of yellow attached itself to the back of his legs.

It is extremely difficult to keep standing when the backs of your knees have been pounded with the full weight of even an anorexic (or so it looked to Sephiroth, who was not, it must be admitted, the best judge of such things) eight-year-old boy. For one full second Sephiroth managed to remain standing, before his legs buckled forwards and his head met the non-ground of the Lifestream with a decidedly real sickening thump.

The Lifestream had a terribly disorientating habit of not appearing to be there, when in fact it was several grades more tangible than a 'real' brick wall, provided Sephiroth's head was coming into contact with it.

Aeris chewed her bottom lip nervously as she watched the blond try unsuccessfully to wake Sephiroth from his forced blackout. "Oh dear."

* * *

It was possibly the most disorientating moment of his life, when Sephiroth woke up. On the one hand he could see blurry shapes of rose-pink and sunshine-bright yellow that appeared to debating whether it would do the world a favour to permanently put him out of his misery (and to nobody's surprise, least of all his own, Sephiroth was very miserable). On the other, he could also see the Chocobo Head engaged in what looked like a fun nautical game of hide and seek with the added entertainment value of torpedoes. There was a simultaneous urge to vomit and laugh hysterically. Debating Chocobo Head's mental state in playing games when a giant lump of rock was about to hit the earth, he went for the latter. Now how did that laugh go…? "Mwahahah-" He blinked, and cradled his head. "Oh, my head hurts."

"Absolutely pathetic." There was something terribly familiar about that voice, something… pink? Oh. God. No. "Get up you pitiful excuse for a threat to humanity!"

"G'way. Pink hurts." He mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to protect himself with the doll.

"I didn't want it to come to this..." The pink voice was joined by a chocobo yellow one. The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach grew at the clash of colours. He was going to die – he was going to die in abject humiliation, this was just- a finger poked his side. He promptly broke the offending appendage, resulting in an eardrum-shredding shriek. In the past week or so, Sephiroth had developed a conditioned response to such screams: he leapt to his feet and ran as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, Aeris, under the façade of a helpless flower-seller, had an uncanny aim with materia. For the second time in as many hours, Sephiroth was knocked out.

* * *

"He's cracked, you know."

Non-committal 'mm' noise from the yellow voice.

"I mean, yes, the best villains are insane. But it's usually a _calculated_ insanity. He's just stepped off the edge over his hair." A fluttery, exasperated sigh. "It's quite terrible. He's just not cut out for this lunatic business." A pause as she struggled valiantly against Sephiroth's death-grip on Cloudy the doll. "I think he would've done marginally better in a heroic capacity."

"_I'm_ the hero."

"Yes, yes, but let's face it, you're not exactly doing a stellar job, are you? You're a lawsuit against heroes just _waiting_ to happen. And you have psychological faults well suited for villainy. _He's _deranged not because he should be, but because he just can't cope any other way. It's really quite tragic."

"Tragic." The yellow voice echoed, sounding distinctly put out.

"Don't you pout at me, young man. How foolish do you think I am? And don't you dare even _think_ of turning on the waterworks."

Sephiroth opened one eye warily, and regarded them beadily with the look of someone who had genuinely wanted their suicide to work. "I'm... alive?"

"Unfortunately." Aeris assented, flapping her hands at Strife to get out of the way, kneeling next to him and checking for a steady pulse, any broken bones and Strife-trauma. Sephiroth blinked, decided to ignore her and turned to the blond, who was regarding him seriously with the most angry expression he'd seen on a young child's face since he'd told that schoolchild exactly what he could do with his daddy's lawsuit for Sephiroth's breaking his arm. The look on Sephiroth's child-face had not been one of anger but of malicious amusement.

"What'd I do?" He mumbled to him, waving the blond closer, ready to accept whatever punishment the boy wished to deal out. When punishment was quite unavoidable, Sephiroth was much better at accepting physical retribution than mental or psychological. This was why Jenova never actually had to enforce various threats of shredding his brain and knitting it together to make a tutu. The knowledge that she _could_ do so if she wished was quite enough, and an actual physical attempt would have proved far less effective.

The boy pouted. "She said you'd be better at my job than me."

Sephiroth gave Aeris one of his most virulent glares, the one that could send a new Shinra employee to a psychiatric hospital in less than a month. She smiled back. Sephiroth was the first to look away. "Never mind her," he soothed, carefully avoiding Aeris' megawatt smile (the one that could send _him_ to a psychiatric hospital in less than a month). "How'd the spirit-guiding go?" he asked awkwardly, casting about for a topic to distract him. The boy brightened.

"It went fine. Tifa helped a bit."

"You mean the B-" he caught Aeris' eye and quickly reneged on what he'd been going to say, "Whiny Girl was there and you didn't kill her?"

As he often did when the topic stumbled on Tifa, Strife the Little Chocobo Head frowned at him, clearly perplexed. "No. Why would I kill Tifa? She's nice. I like her."

Sephiroth heaved himself to his feet, swaying a little, curled one arm around the boy's thin shoulders and began to carefully, and in very simple terms, explain that he thought him to be an absolute idiot in regards to women. Judging from the boy's vacant expression, it went right over his head.

"Just because you lived next to each other when you were both squalling brats does not mean you are legally obliged to enter a relationship with her." He paused, his mind quite clearly wandering off to somewhere it would be appreciated. "Besides, at least one of you has outgrown the squalling brat stage. Look further afield."

"Leave him alone." Aeris interjected. "Cloud, sweetie, you do what you feel like."

Strife also wore the expression of someone dealing with an idiot as he patiently tried to explain that Tifa was a nice girl and he liked her, and really, since when was it any of Sephiroth's business?

"Oh, come on. Kid, you meet women every day – that one among them –" he indicated Aeris with a loose wave, who regarded it with a sniff, "and you still have a puppy crush on a girl who wouldn't have noticed if you'd dropped off the face of the earth at any point before your fourteenth birthday? Sure, there's a smidgen – and just a smidgen, mind – of history between you, and that only because you happen to have been born in the same provincial backwater as each other. Other than that, you know absolutely nothing about each other, and being born in the same town is _not_ reason enough to tie the knot."

"I didn't say I was going to marry her," the blond snapped, though Sephiroth, stepping out of range of tightly curled fists, detected a faint untruth in his voice. He shook his head sadly, and mentally chalked one up to Whiny Girl.

"Your preoccupation with Cloud's love life is beginning to disturb me." Aeris frowned, from where she tried to hold Strife back from throwing himself at Sephiroth in what would likely end up in a short, bloody brawl. "I don't understand how it's any of your business, or why you seem so dead set against Tifa. She's a nice girl. Little confused, but a nice girl. And she does adore him."

"That is self-evident." Sephiroth snorted, shaking his head to try and rid himself of the sudden echoing whine his mind conjured up. "I have numerous reasons," He continued stiffly, on his dignity. "I wouldn't have minded if he ended up with you – you've got enough beauty and brains for the both of you, and probably enough to counteract his half of the genetics in the children. Whiny Girl now..." he dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way as Aeris lost her battle and Strife was let loose. "Is woefully lacking in a great many departments. And can you imagine the emotional and psychological scars those children would have, growing up in a relationship where one of their parents is a psycho and the other just goes along with whatever he says because it's easier?" One of Strife's flailing hands caught hold of Sephiroth's hair and dragged him back to the ground, in range of several vicious strikes to the face.

Aeris watched for a moment as Sephiroth tried unsuccessfully to twist out the way from the hurricane that was Strife in a rage, and thought indifferently that now she understood just why Cloud had gone for SOLDIER.

It was even shorter, bloodier, and more vicious than the first time the two of them had met. Eventually, with Sephiroth sporting an already fading black eye, a possibly broken nose (or at least a heavily bleeding one) and a fractured cheekbone (you really could see the splinters), Strife was subdued. Namely by Sephiroth pinning him to the floor until he wore himself out kicking and screaming.

"And anyway," Sephiroth rasped, pausing for a moment to spit blood on the floor, "I tried to kill Whiny Girl way back in my first novice attempts at multiple genocide and I failed. That alone accounts for most ill will."

Strife gave a muffled wail into Sephiroth's shoulder that sounded like "Mmppff ge'roff y'basta'd!"

With ease born of years of board meetings Sephiroth ignored him. "I'm not sure he can even have children, you know." He mused, elbowing the boy absently in the face when he managed to free his head and neck from the crushing weight and gulp for air.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Think about it. Do you know a single woman that's managed to have a SOLDIER's child? And SOLDIERs get around, you must know that. Zack was a prime example."

"Don't talk about Zack like that!"

Sephiroth carefully weighed his chances of survival against an enraged descendant of an ancient civilisation that specialised in manipulating Lifestream – Lifestream he happened to be existing in. It was not worth the risk, he decided, just to state the obvious.

Of course, when he found Zack in this wonderful state of alive-deadness he was going to bitch at him forever for picking a girlfriend who could be even more of a pain in his ass dead than alive.

_"Where's that thing headed?"_

Fuck. Now he even heard Chocobo Head's conversations when he himself was dead. Oh, Holy, this existence ranked below an earthworm's in appeal. Where was his grand destiny? It sure as hell wasn't what he was doing now, playing nursemaid to a blond psychotic.

_"Rocket Town, of course."_

Rocket Town... not even the Chocobo Head could get into _that_ much trouble in a town where the only attraction was a defunct rocket. He cast a wary glance at Strife, who was looking at him expectantly, eyes glinting cheerfully.

What was he _thinking_? Chocobo Head seemed to delight in making his life (unlife, if you wanted to be technical) hell.

_'...Mother Gaea... I know we're not exactly on the best of terms right now, but for the love of... love of Whatever, just... loan him average intelligence for a few hours. Common sense, anything to stop him making messes I'll have to sort out.'_

Aeris looked over with a triumphant smile. "Feeling desperate, are we?"

There was really no point denying what was obvious. Sephiroth prided himself on that. Still... "...Shut up."


	17. The Blond Conspiracy

Rufus was undertaking the most important executive decision he'd ever make in his life (in his own opinion). The focus of this undertaking was a dartboard; the problem was whose picture was going to replace his father's.

Rufus was very fond of the battered dartboard, the aforementioned object being a relic of the days before Tseng taught him how to use a shotgun as way to release tension (namely by aiming for Heidegger in the office below). It had served him well (the wall behind it too – consisting, as it did, of more 'Polyfilla Gap Sealant' than brick). But his father was dead, and could no longer be used as the focus of all his frustrations. You couldn't exactly blame a dead man for Huge Materia being stolen.

...well, you could blame Sephiroth, who was arguably dead. Speaking of which: Sephiroth? Heidegger? AVALANCHE spokesperson, the screwed up Clone?

Oh, making decisions of such critical importance was wearisome at times.

Sephiroth, had in fact, already been on the dartboard once before. He'd placed it there for a meeting shortly after the... ahem, Late Night Scarlet Incident, to remind Sephiroth that he was hardly as irreplaceable as he seemed to think he was. It had remained there until Sephiroth's supposed demise because a) it didn't work, b) there was something very therapeutic about stabbing holes in that smug, I'm-gorgeous-and-I-know-it aristocratic face and c) it felt as if after that the only time Sephiroth ever dragged himself out of his board-meeting-induced comas was to undermine Rufus. Of course, if Rufus hadn't been so preoccupied with the slights to him, he would have noticed that Sephiroth slighted everyone equally on a rota.

But Sephiroth was _technically _dead at this moment, which disqualified him. Fair was fair, after all.

Heidegger... well, Rufus could shoot him any time in person.

But Blondie... Blondie deserved a place, surely. He'd beaten Rufus in sword-to-shotgun combat. He'd led him pell-mell across the whole damn planet, only to give away the most powerful piece of materia in the world to the Enemy (that was to say, the enemy that was _everyone's _enemy, hence the capitalisation). And he'd just been (very reluctantly) notified that the little shit had stolen some Huge Materia (this despite the fact he'd been reliably informed Strife was in the throes of Mako poisoning and unlikely to ever be more than a drooling vegetable for the rest of his life. Someone was going to get shot for that one).

He paused. He sighed. He grabbed the best photo he had of Strife (courtesy of his Shinra file) and taped it securely to the centre of the board. He shook his head violently to rid himself of the sudden snarl of outrage that sounded uncannily like Sephiroth in one his tempest moods, and took careful aim.

The dart thudded home right between the calm blue eyes, much to his satisfaction.

He nodded in contentment before pressing the button on his intercom and ordering his secretary to send Reno to his office, in just the right tone to imply someone was going to die, and if she didn't want it to be her, she'd better obey. _Fast_. He leaned back, threw another dart, and prepared himself for drunken ramblings, heartfelt complaints, insincere excuses and curses every other 'the'.

* * *

Sephiroth was having an anticipatory nervous breakdown, and Chocobo Head hadn't even set foot on the Western Continent yet. Aeris was finding the process very fascinating, having never seen an example of one of Sephiroth's near-legendary malfunctions of sanity before, although Strife wearily informed her it was more of a nervous tic since Jenova and the whole 'Puppet' business had really kicked in.

"It can't be that bad," she suggested gently, gingerly patting his shoulder.

"That bad? _That bad_?" If he dug his fingers any further into his scalp, Aeris decided, he was going to get those beautiful locks very bloody. She bravely accepted the task of trying to remove his hands without the unnecessary breakage of bones on either side. "Imagine the chaos he can blunder into with a rocket! A _rocket_, Aeris! If something goes wrong in there… hell, if a window blows out not only will his lungs explode, the subsequent hypoxia will turn him into a drooling vegetable! And you tell me it 'can't be that _bad'_?"

"The rocket doesn't work," Strife pointed out sensibly, apparently the only person there capable of rational thought.

Sephiroth stilled, and peered suspiciously out at him through disarrayed hair that Aeris immediately began smoothing back. "Doesn't work? Are you sure?" he said hoarsely.

"Ummm... quite sure..."

"Oh. Oh... well... thank _God_."

Aeris froze. "...please don't look now, but..."

The resulting shriek was to echo through the Lifestream for the next five years, a rather disconcerting welcome for new arrivals.

* * *

Reno, it was well known, was a Turk, a hard drinker and the love 'em and leave 'em type that had probably fathered at least a dozen bastards all over Midgar. What was less obvious outside of the tight-knit group of his co-workers, was that Reno was also very proud of his status as a Turk, and knew perfectly well that he had to be top of his game in order to stay there. Hence, Reno was pissed. In both senses of the word, though only one was relevant in his current situation. Which was, standing in front of Rufus (carefully ignoring the familiar, well-battered dartboard Rufus had brought out from storage in case his picture was on it) forcing himself to admit, yes, the blond by the name of Cloud Strife (what kind of pansy went around with that for a name?) had beaten him once again.

Reno was a _Turk_. Yellow-headed, bird-brained pansies by the name of 'Cloud' (or anything to do with the weather) are not supposed to beat Turks. Especially when the actual fighting had been left to a robot.

Rufus' eyes were very cold, Reno noted drunkenly, fortunately lost enough to the beer that it didn't make his heart freeze in his chest. Reno had worked just long enough under Rufus' command to know that unlike his father he would not be placated by excuses, so Reno didn't say anything, just tried with inebriated logic to pinpoint just what pissed him off the most about Strife, little realising that an hour ago Rufus had been doing exactly the same thing.

Not only did Strife have the sort of name that begged for insults, he was _blond_. Reno knew perfectly well that hair colour actually had no bearing whatsoever on a fighter's ability and/or brainpower, but something about that colour on Strife galled him immensely. His boss was sort of, it was a little darker, y'know, reddish blond (even in his head Reno avoided calling Rufus ginger. It was likely to set him off cackling like a hyena). _Elena_ was blond. _Scarlet_ was blond. Ick.

Reno was drunk, ergo he was paranoid. If Strife was blond, and Rufus was blond, and Elena was blond… It was a blond conspiracy against him!

"Reno!"

Reno choked on the inside of his cheek. Maybe blondness endowed Rufus with the ability to read minds? He eyed Rufus askance and started reaching for his nightstick.

Before his fingers could even close around the handle he found a shotgun barrel under his nose.

"Reno, go outside, dunk your head in some cold water, and come back to me sober enough to understand when I'm chewing you out."

Reno blinked, understood that he was being dismissed, staggered out muttering about conspiracies, blondes, idiots, and _waaaaiiiiittttt just a minute_…

"Rude jus' got ordered ta Rocket Town? _Without_ me? When? How? _Wha_-?"

Back in his office, Rufus aimed another dart, ignoring with finesse the pounding on his door.

"Boss? **BOSS!** _Rufus you_-!"

* * *

"Oh look, the Turks sent a welcoming committee!" Aeris chirped, trying optimistically to cheer Sephiroth up. Contrary to her hopes, he immediately looked faint, his legs collapsing him beneath him.

"A Turk," he murmured in a dazed voice that dissuaded his companions from mentioning what the Turk was guarding. "A _sober_ Turk, who takes his job seriously. Could this day get _any_ worse?"

Pink voice and yellow voice (as they became when Sephiroth lost the capacity for rational thought) appeared to debate something silently. "Well," the blond said at last, it apparently being decided he was less likely to be slaughtered as the messenger of bad news. "The rocket is on a collision course with Meteor and..."

"I didn't know he could scream that loudly," she murmured after he'd stormed off for a closer look.

"I did. Wait till he learns the course is unchangeable."

Far ahead of them, some of the feeling was returning to Sephiroth's legs. Most of the blood was draining out of his face, however, as he realised his stupid, idiotic, moronic _imbecile_ of a puppet really was in a rocket on a collision course with a giant hunk of rock. Not only that, but a giant hunk of rock his mother must have called down while he was tearing his hair out (not _literally_ of course – that would only make the problem worse) trying to see the Chocobo Head to a place of safety while he drooled his way through a bout of Mako poisoning.

_"If you want the Materia, do whatever you want!"_

Although he prayed fervently for the Chocobo Head to show some brains for once, he already knew the outcome. He could almost _feel_ the blond walking away over his grave to attempt something incredibly stupid (it was a very familiar sensation and it irked him immensely).

...There just weren't enough curses for him to express his displeasure at the Puppet with.

He did perhaps the only logical thing he had the strength left to do after what felt like centuries carefully manipulating (or cosseting as Aeris would have said, he thought sourly) the Chocobo Head. He fainted.

* * *

"...Well I think it's _adorable_." The pink voice said lightly.

"Yeah, but you're not the one he has a doll of. _I_ think it's-" Whatever the yellow voice thought about it Sephiroth didn't learn, as he sat up abruptly without opening his eyes.

"Is Chocobo Head dead?"

Little Chocobo Head looked a little miffed. "Of course not. He's arguing with Cid about how to get the Huge Materia free."

Sephiroth collapsed back again, and thrust a piece of paper into Strife's hands. "This is the code; now let me suffer through a mental epileptic fit in peace."

"If you don't want me around you could've just _said_." He sniffed. Before Sephiroth could respond to the warning bells ringing in his ears that there was soon to be a Strife-outburst that made a monsoon look like an April shower, the boy had scampered off, and Aeris was surveying him with an amused look he didn't like. At all.

"Not. A. Word." He rasped, covering his eyes. She giggled.

"You have to admit, it was quite sweet."

"It was _not_ sweet." He snapped. "I collapsed. Big deal."

"You're worried about Cloudy," she intoned in a singsong that scraped his nerves raw. His hand automatically sought out the doll tied to his belt, and assured it was there he opened his eyes and began scouring his surroundings for Strife. She scowled in exasperation. Not being used to such negative expressions, it came out slightly skewed and looked far too benign for the monstrous being he could see every time she smiled. "Not _that _Cloudy." She snapped. "Cloud. The one you affectionately call the Chocobo Head."

"It is _not_ a term of endearment, it is an insult." It was the worst insinuation she could make. As if he _cared_ what happened to the annoying, inept, downright idiotic boy. He just needed him to kill Mother, that was all. "He has the brains of a chocobo."

"Most chocobos are actually quite intelligent." She pointed out, the sweet smile back on her face. He shuddered.

"Well my chocobo was last in the line at the brains department."

"Excuses, excuses." She warbled cheerily.

"Why won't you just _die_, damn you?" He snarled. He paused, surveying her hurt look. "I apologise for that remark. Let me rephrase it: why won't you die and leave me alone?"

"Why are you such a grouch?" In a move that was somehow vintage Aeris, she prodded his nose.

"Why are you such a sweet ray of sunshine?" He demanded, trying (and somehow failing) to grab and break her finger. "Pollyanna was a manic depressive compared to you."

She looked suddenly intrigued. "I heard she died suddenly. Did you know her?"

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. "Know her? I was the one that pushed her under that company truck when she was hobbling along on crutches." His eyes misted over at the sudden memory. "One of the happiest moments of my life. And of many others I assume."

"...monster."

"I aim to please."

"...Don't tell me you were behind that Turk's death too. The one before Tseng."

"It's specifically stated in the records that he died of natural causes!" Sephiroth protested weakly (Cloud had returned and was counting his toes sitting on Sephiroth's chest, so quite understandably he was finding it difficult to get air).

"Oh yes," Aeris agreed amiably. "A dagger in the heart does quite naturally tend to end one's life."

"Contrary to popular belief..." he wheezed, now trying unsuccessfully to push the startlingly heavy restraint on his chest off, "I am not responsible for every unsolved murder in Midgar. Just a few of them." He swore violently at Strife, who surveyed him with such a betrayed and wounded look he instantly apologised out of fear for his sanity – if anything was guaranteed to push him off the edge it was being looked at with that expression. "For such a little child, how can you be so goddamn heavy?" He whined.

"People's chests aren't meant to be sat on," Aeris pointed out, "Though in your case I make an exception."

Sephiroth glared at her for a while, trying with weak, exhausted movements to at least stop Strife poking his cheek. "Why is it than even dead I can't get any peace? You evil bastards."

"There, there." Aeris soothed, giggling at the incongruous sight of the Great Sephiroth being sat on. "Everything will turn out for the best in the end."

"Best for who?" He snapped, finally managing to push the boy off, only to spend the next five minutes trying to stop him wailing. "Stop crying," he said at last, desperately, "And I'll… I'll… ohfuckit… teach you some of your Uncle Cid's best curses!"

"You most certainly will not!"

"He's got to learn sometime!"

"Sephiroth, if I hear _one_ less than polite word-"

"'Less than polite'… how politic."

She continued on, oblivious. "-from that boy, I will ensure that you are castrated. _And_ that your head is shaved."

Sephiroth winced and backed away, apparently unsure which body area should be protected first. "Evil wench!" The blond looked avidly from one to the other.

"Pompous ass."

"Pay attention now," Sephiroth murmured to the boy, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away with him. "Pompous is not a good all-round insult; it adds however to an slur against the character of a certain sort of individual. It'll work for most high-up Shinra individuals." He ducked a wide swing from Aeris' staff, making a note to bemoan the fact later that she got a weapon and he did not. "'Ass' however, is a very common, and therefore weak jibe, and generally shows a lack of imagination."

"How about: Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum." Aeris muttered under her breath, aiming another swing at his head.

Sephiroth gaped for a moment. "Right. There are several things wrong with that statement."

Aeris buried her head in her hands in disbelief.

"Firstly, I did not ride in here on a horse. I'm not sure how this place works, but I'm pretty sure that's an impossibility. Secondly, the only method of transport at my disposal when in the North in the first place is a chocobo, and the only chocobo here is that one-" he waved his free hand at an oblivious Strife – "And that is just _wrong_ on so many levels."

Strife blinked. "Eh?"

Sephiroth continued on, heedless. "Thirdly, it is not anatomically possible to-"

"I get the picture! Sweet Gaea, not in front of the child!"

"Eh? What?"

Sephiroth patted him on the head. "Sweet virginal Aeris just told me to go screw myself. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Oh."

"Sephiroth..." There was something altogether too sweet about the tone. Sephiroth took it as warning sign, and backed away, no longer dragging the boy with him. He instead tried to use him as a shield. The wrath of Aeris was great and terrible; Jenova he could handle, but a woman filled with the power of sunshine and daisies was simply impossible. "Did you know," she continued sweetly, one finger on her lips, "That your Puppet is in an escape pod, has only just bailed out in time to avoid Meteor-" He moaned in horror. "-and what the force of ground meeting said escape pod could do to the occupants?"

"...I thought you liked the Puppet? Shouldn't you be concerned?"

"Mm-hm." she smiled delightfully. "Oh, don't worry. If we're feeling so inclined-" Sephiroth looked sharply away to the blond, hit by a sudden sense of vertigo that it wasn't just Aeris talking. "We'll speed up the Planet's rotary time and ensure he hits water... his job isn't over with after all... but only if _you_ are willing to do something for us..."

He wondered how on earth anyone could have been fooled that the girl was anything other than a manipulative pink-dressed bitch. He wondered just how he had missed how knowledgeable those damnable eyes of Strife were (and how they said at the present moment: 'you are so pathetic'). He wondered how on earth, heaven or hell he had ever thought it couldn't get much worse that paperwork job at Shinra, a blanket ban on scissors and the absolute refusal to sell him anything remotely alcoholic.

"...Your orders, ma'am?"


	18. Enter Zack

Vincent Valentine, it is generally accepted by those with the misfortune to have met him, is man (or by popular opinion, vampire) to stay as far away from as possible.

If the penchant for gothic metaphor, biblical sin imagery, fuzzy blood red cloaks and sleeping in coffins hadn't been warnings enough, all it took was a couple of good pokes with a sharp stick, and if you weren't gibbering or dead by the end of the ensuing experience, even the most broad-minded and liberal person would admit, yes, Vincent Valentine was to be avoided at all costs due to the inherent risks to life and sanity.

It was a mystery greater than his pointy-toed boots as to how Vincent could have been managed to hide this psychosis _and_ be a competent Turk (a being suspected to be an oxymoron in recent days). While Turks are not, to put it mildly, fond of psychiatrists (forty-six percent of all Shinra psychiatrists' deaths and/or disappearances followed a psych evaluation of a Turk) they do not usually present such an overt front of mental instability except in three situations.

The first is when drunk (a very frequent condition and not usually something to be concerned about, so long as there has been no mention of men in black. Normal drunks have pink elephants; Turks have men in black that they must shoot before they themselves are shot).

The second situation is when stoned (this generally resulted in a bloodbath, hence it became specifically stated upon hire that no Turk was to ingest hallucinogenic drugs and any who do so while on the job will have the duty of guarding the Prez on his Honey Bee Inn visits. The less said of those the better – suffice to say it was a very efficient deterrent.)

Lastly, immediately following an incident of great mental trauma (it is wise not ask what is enough to shake a Turk, who have been specifically screened for lack of morals, integrity and cast-iron stomachs)

Although Cid was firmly of the opinion that the only possible excuse for someone as screwed up as Vincent was drugs of the Class A variety, everyone else tactfully agreed that Vincent was simply loco, and it was too extreme not to be natural. It was a condition, it was decided, that had probably been exacerbated by Hojo and cemented by years in a coffin. It was decided furthermore that it was essential to health and sanity to keep as far from Vincent as possible lest psychosis turned out to be catching (given the state of Shinra's employees, it was accepted it was).

Vincent did not necessarily mind this. Even he found himself frequently irritated with the more melodramatic turns of phrase, but he liked his privacy, and if there was one advantage to behaving like an absolute lunatic, it was that theatrical declarations such as '...The gate to tomorrow is not the light of heaven, but the darkness of the depths of the Earth...' ensured his fellow team members edged away slowly and left him well alone, leaving him free to contemplate more serious lines of thought. For example, 'our leader bears a serious resemblance to a large, but not so very intelligent bird, and this is not a good omen.' Or, 'our enemy is highly-trained professional soldier who carries around a six foot sword, likes to burn towns for fun, and outclasses our leader every which way, and this too, is most definitely Not Good'. And perhaps most important, 'There is a large lump of rock heading this way, and the world is going to end in approximately a week, while we pursue several entertaining but ultimately worthless avenues of investigation.' (Only recently had the group been watching their oh so brilliant leader flit in and out of the Battle Arena trying to gather enough points to procure whatever insignificant item had been top of the list. Cloud had actually been reduced to a fit of apoplectic fury the second time a Ghost Ship had flung him out of the Arena in the last round.)

Having thus taken careful stock of the situation, he cranked his internal Random Gothic Poetry Generator (RGPG) setting up from 'misunderstood teenager' to 'suicidal'.

He then proceeded to sit down, watch Yuffie sing a woefully out of tune rendition of '99 Magic Materia', ostensibly to counteract motion sickness, and decided forthwith that he hated the universe.

This continued right up until Bugenhagen floated over and began expounding the wonders of machinery, at which time Vincent realised things really could get worse. He began to suspect that his horoscope had advised not getting up that morning (actually it had advised moving halfway across the planet, changing his name, birthdate and other essential details and living out the rest of his life as a fisherman in the hope that what the stars fortold might be diverted).

He pulled out his most morbid, philosophical, obscure and illogical sayings out of the RGPG in an attempt to get him to leave him alone, and yet Nanaki's grandfather simply refused to get the hint. In fact, he was delighted and tried engaging him in further conversation.

By the time the Highwind docked, Vincent had already reminded himself of the rare, undetectable posions he'd learnt with the Turks, and was planning exactly how to slip them into Bugenhagen's food.

* * *

According Strife's calculation, the world was going to end in just over a week. The very simple equation (he _was _eight after all, and Nibelheim didn't appear to have been big on keeping Shinra's international education standards) went something like this: size of meteor multiplied by speed of meteor divided by Planetary rotation time minus hero-stupidity. It was providing a welcome distraction for Sephiroth, despite Strife's insistence that it wasn't a serious equation, to which he had responded by informing him that every single piece of accounting ever worked out in Shinra's book-keeping department used similar principles.

Five hours after Strife first suggested it, Sephiroth announced that according to _his_ variant, give or take a few variables, the world was going to end in eight days, seventeen hours and forty-two minutes. When he'd informed Aeris of this, she'd eyed him weirdly and carefully but firmly pulled Strife away from where he'd fallen asleep curling into Sephiroth's lap and using one of his discarded shoulder guards to cradle his head. Her reaction had bemused him, but as Strife twitched in his sleep and spent a lot of the time twisting around uncomfortably with exasperating frequency, he wasn't too displeased.

"Has anyone told you lately that you're a complete madman?"

"No," he said calmly, rather disappointed with her confusion of priorities.

"Well they should. Someone should tell you that you're insane at least twice a day."

He frowned. "I believe the point of such an exercise is somewhat redundant if I already know I'm insane." He picked up the discarded piece of armour Strife had been using as a helmet and surveyed it for a moment before throwing it over his shoulder. It wasn't as if he was going to need it anytime soon. "Maybe you could go find Zack," he suggested hopefully. "At least then I wouldn't be the only lunatic around."

"That's beside the point." She paced, wondering how to drive the point home. "You know..." she turned back with an angelic smile that caused Sephiroth's serene expression to falter. "I'll have Cloud buy a tombstone for you."

"Really." he inquired warily, "I'm... touched?"

She smirked. "And I'll have him put as your epitaph... 'Here lies Sephiroth. Tried to destroy the planet because nobody loved him, poor baby.'"

The aforementioned personage surged to his feet, his pale face flushed with rage. "You _dare_ and I'll—"

"You'll _what_?" she taunted, gently (and somehow, inexplicably threateningly) stroking the soft spiky-haired head resting in her embrace with one hand. "Ah-ah, not a step closer! You don't really want to find out what happens when you wake a napping eight year old, do you?" Her ministrations stopped being gentle as her fingers curled threateningly in the tangled jungle of blond spikes. Sephiroth faltered mid-step and seeing no other course, he backed away carefully, and slowly and cautiously lowered himself back down into a sitting position.

"You evil, conniving -"

"Sh. Don't want to wake baby now, do you?"

"...There is something inherently _wrong_ with you, woman."

She arched an eyebrow delicately, an expression he was enraged to realise she had stolen from him. "Look who's talking."

He shook his head wordlessly and scowled helplessly at her, his fingers twitching dangerously. He did nothing, however. He was beginning to suspect that Aeris was capable of far more horrific schemes and much greater evil then he could ever be.

"Sulking isn't very becoming of you."

"..." Yes, he decided. Zack must be found. If there was one thing Zack was good at, it was distractions. Maybe Aeris would be more preoccupied tormenting Zack than him and leave him alone. He stood up. Then he remembered that if you actually wanted to find Zack, he'd make damn sure you didn't find him. He sat back down again and fought hard against the rising tide of despair and hopelessness inside of him.

* * *

Zack wasn't exactly new to being ignored – he'd been Sephiroth's best/only friend, after all, insofar as Sephiroth actually did 'friends', having all the emotional intelligence of teaspoon – but several months of deadness and even he was getting irked. Anyone in any way affiliated with Shinra (and many who weren't) could tell you that was a bad thing for Zack to be.

Even worse than being irked, Zack was bored. Bored with a capital 'B'. Bored in capitals. With exclamation marks. In a Reno post-it note.

It wasn't as if he _wanted_ his friends to die just to alleviate the monotony of his new existence, but seriously, nobody in this green place had _any_ sense of humour. Even _Sephiroth_ had occasional flashes of true brilliance when he needed corporate revenge and/or pulled the stick out of his ass. Speaking of which, Sephiroth ought to be here somewhere, and that fact that Zack hadn't seen him _once_ since arriving suggested something very fishy – namely that he was being ignored for real (even Sephiroth, he felt, couldn't stand being in this place without having someone to bitch at). Or that he was still alive, but who'd heard of that happening after someone went for a mako bath at the bottom of a reactor?

So he wasn't in the best of moods. And his not-the-best-of-moods only worsened when he heard through the grapevine – dead people being bigger gossips than Shinra secretaries – that his ex-girlfriend had died (and judging by the gleefully scandalised voices, extremely nastily). And realised that she hadn't visited once.

Zack was a Flirt (lots of Zack's qualities, Sephiroth had felt, deserved capitalisation. Especially when he was bored, because he then honed those qualities to razorblade perfection). Even if he hadn't been able to admit this 'flaw' in his character, Seph's snide remarks were enough to warn anyone. But he'd been perfectly serious about Aeris, and couldn't fathom for the life of him what the hell he could have done while he was alive and capable of visiting to annoy her enough that she didn't even look for him.

For the first time in his life, Zack was feeling miserable.

He hated it. Which is why the immediate area of Lifestream and the people it contained surrounding Zack was covered in brightly coloured streamers, glitter, metal polish, slogans of a varying nature and pom-poms. He scowled. He wondered if Spike was okay. He started plotting.

It was a superstition among the Cetra that if you called the name of the Crisis three times it would appear. In the halls of the Shinra building, the principle applied to Zack. And Zack was getting that sneezy feeling that meant someone either desperately wanted him around or desperately didn't. Or maybe both.

He started walking with a manic gleam in his eye that had always sent Shinra employees running. Some of the Lifestream members were in fact former Shinra employees and did indeed begin running.

* * *

Cloud tilted his head back. "You hear something?"

The rest of the group exchanged glances and carefully avoided falling into the trap of questioning Cloud's mental state (something so patently amiss there was no point). The blond shrugged uncomfortably, still slightly disconcerted. "I just thought I heard the Planet scream."

* * *

It was slightly more difficult than he anticipated finding his former best friend. All he'd had to do when alive was follow the screams and the blood trail and he'd find Seph eventually, somewhere along the line, but that was kind of invalid here, so he followed his own intuition, which had never led him wrong where Sephiroth and his blood-cravings were concerned. Today was not going to change that, it seemed, as he appeared on the scene of what he decided would have been most lucrative blackmail material _ever_, had the Lifestream contained a camera – namely, his girlfriend threatening the star of the Shinra army with a sleeping mini-version of Spike. Even better, judging from the expression of utter panic on Sephiroth's face, it was working. Spotting him over her shoulder, Sephiroth gave him a look with the sort of desperate relief Zack expected of Reno in a mess without Rude (or Reno in any situation without Rude), not the head of the army.

He darted past Aeris and seized Zack by his collar, looking weak with relief. "Thank G-me." He muttered hysterically, scrabbling agitatedly at the faded uniform as if searching for some purchase to claw his way back up into the real world he'd slipped out of. "_Help_ me, Zack, she's crazy!"

Yes, it was undoubtedly one of the more interesting situations he'd found himself in. If he'd known _this_ would have been Seph's reaction to Aeris, he'd have introduced them when he was alive.

* * *

Zack watched his commander entertain the miniature version of his best friend with a game that looked suspiciously like pat-a-cake, and suppressed with ruthless efficiency the overwhelming fits of giggles that threatened to undo him. As if reading his mind Sephiroth looked at up and sent him a glare that said as clearly as if he had spoken – _Zack, remember my repeated attempts at removing your ability to contaminate the gene pool?_

Zack shuddered at the thought and shifted subtly to protect himself from sudden attack. Sephiroth inclined his head regally – Zack translated the gesture as 'good boy' – and went back to teaching mini-Spike as many obscene gestures as he could get away with before Aeris noticed.

Aeris wandered over, glaring disapprovingly at Sephiroth, who first paled, then scowled defensively, then demonstrated some of the more universal signs.

"He's been a terrible influence on your little friend," Aeris informed Zack tiredly.

Zack shrugged. "Should I be concerned? Better Seph than me; he doesn't know how to have really good fun."

Sephiroth assumed the expression of the smugly vindicated. It wasn't necessary to further elaborate on Zack's ideas of really good fun, though Strife looked fascinated.

Aeris frowned. Zack, sensing he'd trespassed over the boundaries of her realm of decorum, backtracked. "Sooo, Spike-" Strife shot him a withering glare that demanded to know if he'd looked into the mirror recently– "What did big bad Sephy teach you?"

Sephiroth made a gesture that needed no translation at the usage of 'Sephy', while Strife brightened. "He said life's not fair."

"Very true," Zack nodded sagely. "After all, if life were fair Hojo would make his living asking 'do you want fries with that?'"

Sephiroth shuddered, horrified. "Zack, no! Just imagine what he could do with the ingredients!"

Aeris nodded in agreement, a little green. "He's right. Would _you_ want to eat something Hojo prepared?"

"It doesn't matter!" Zack waved his arms in dismissal. "Fast food restaurants are filled with budding mad scientists behind the deep fat fryers." He shook his head pityingly. "You've never eaten at one, have you? It's impossible to tell whether it's a hamburger or a mutated slice of Jenova."

"If that's the case," Sephiroth said dryly, "Why would I ever wish to?"

"In your case, to scare them out of their wits. In my case, to remind what they could have been if they weren't so stupid."

"...Because you are a perfect example of intelligence."

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," Zack sniffed, giving him a look perfectly imitating hurt. "I'm eminently sensible."

"Pink dye in the soap dispensers? Beer in the chocobos' watering troughs? The calls to Hojo indicating an interest on the part of the cafeteria for the blood-jelly in the back of his fridge? Let's not even mention what you did to the Turks' staff room."

"Hey, I had help with that one-"

"Beating the vending machines, and I quote, 'to death'? The inappropriate use of household appliances – I'm sure you remember what Tseng threatened if he caught you tampering with his coffee maker again? _The_ _mistletoe_." Sephiroth noted clearly that Strife had hidden beneath his coat when he mentioned the dreaded plant, and resolved to learn just what else Zack had done with the sprig he'd hung over the boardroom door that could have pertained to the unfortunate cadets under his command.

"..."

"And then there was _that_ incident, which resulted in my babysitting you to Nibelheim–"

Zack looked sheepish. "Actually, Reno did that."

Sephiroth eyed him, and decided he wasn't mistaken at the look of disappointed envy in Zack's eyes. "Did he really? Why did you help him?"

The sheepishness, if possible, increased. "He said he needed something to do with the paint."

"...tell me you're not really that dense." He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Zack was that dense. He'd been driven to near-suicide at least seventeen times by Zack at his worst. "Fifty-six thousand gil worth of paint is not the same thing as having a few spare buckets and deciding to decorate the staff room."

"It's not like it came out of the SOLDIER budget! We charged it to Palmer's Space Division, it _exists_ for the purpose!"

Aeris frowned prettily. Sephiroth frowned too, but somehow without the prettiness and with a lot more menace. "I'm fairly sure it doesn't."

Zack looked triumphant. "Well you're wrong! Every account-literate bastard in the company has been funnelling their _excess _excess money through there since the company began. So really, paying for all the paint is damaging private finances of the company executives, and a _good_ thing, 'cause Scarlet, Heideggar _and_ Hojo all have money pooled there. So nyah."

"...Just when I thought you were capable of rational argument you have to go and spoil it all." He sighed deeply and decided he really didn't know if he still pitied Zack for dating Aeris, or if maybe nostalgia had outweighed his sense of Zack's powers of annoyance. He hefted Strife up into his arms and walked just far enough away that he didn't have to hear Aeris yelling at the stupidity of men, one black-haired country hick in particular, remarking in response to Zack's panicky query that he needed intelligent conversation, something Zack simply didn't have the facilities to provide.

"Five minutes." He muttered to Strife, who leaned awkwardly past his shoulder to wave forlornly at Zack. "He's been back five minutes and already I want to kill him."

"I thought you wanted to keep Aeris busy."

"...True. I _knew_ Zack was good for something."

"You're just going to leave him there?" Strife demanded, looking horrified.

Sephiroth blinked. "In times of war you must expect to make difficult decisions. Sadly, my life means far more to me than rescuing Zack's."

"But–"

"He'll be fine. Probably won't be able to stand the colour pink for a couple of years, but he'll get over it."

Sephiroth decided he might just have discovered the reason people liked children. They were so trusting and easily influenced.

* * *

"Have they discovered the deal with the White Materia yet?"

Both Aeris and Zack whirled round, startled. Zack, Sephiroth was amused to note, looked like he'd been ten rounds with a Tonberry. And then run over repeatedly by a moogle smoking things best classified as Sector Six's finest. "Don't _do_ that!" Aeris protested. "You're going to give me a heart attack!"

Sephiroth decided to be a gentleman and not remind her of the first time they conversed. "White Materia. Do they know the deal yet?"

"Yep. Took them a while."

Strife decided to ward off the coming patronisations and glared. Sephiroth patted his head absently. Zack decided to join in the fun and committed much the same attack as he used to try on Scarlet's cat to muss up its fur (this was before it became his goal in life to try and drown it in the toilet). "Wow, Spike! Your hair's soooo soft!" he released the yowling boy and stared at his hand in fascination. "I thought I'd have holes through my hand or somethin'!" Waving it around in such a manner evidently proved irresistible – Strife sunk his teeth into his hand with the same force as a steel trap.

"Rufus is trying to break through the barrier around the Northern Crater," Aeris informed anyone who _might_ be paying attention calmly, trying with some success to ignore the fact that the General of the Shinra army was trying to pry her bodyguard's teeth from the hand of her erstwhile boyfriend.

"I'm gonna-"

"What barrier? _I_ didn't put a barrier around the Northern Crater," Sephiroth grunted, severely endangering his fingers.

"kill you, you vicious-"

"That Jenova put there then. Either way, there's mako-powered shells heading north with your name on them." Strangely, she didn't look concerned. Sephiroth shot her a mildly insulted glare. Mildly, because he was far more preoccupied with Zack, his screaming, and the blood flying about.

"little spiky-haired wretch–"

"There's a Weapon to get through first." (Trying to shake the boy off appeared to just extend the damage. Ah well.)

"owowowowOW–"

Aeris wiped a fleck of blood off her face as Zack stumbled past, howling. "No there isn't."

"Get him offa meeeee!"

Sephiroth hit Strife hard in the kidneys and pulled him quickly away from Zack when he went limp. "There is now. See?"

And lo and behold, there was indeed a Weapon convinced Midgar was monster munch. Sephiroth watched it through the spiky obstruction of Strife's hair (who whimpered most piteously at the aftermath of the combination of fist and kidneys, that being Pain), and decided it was Good.

Zack, completely oblivious, stared incredulously at the blood sliding down his wrist. "I'm never gonna use my right hand again! I'm disabled! Maimed! I'm-"

Aeris glared. It was a glare worthy of Tseng faced with one of Reno's AWOL excuses, like the one with pirate gold, or exploring new frontiers, or his insistence that his sixth grandmother had died (when it was in fact stated in his files that the matter of his mother was in severe doubt, never mind _her_ parentage). "Zack. Shut up." She turned back. Sephiroth coughed. "What about Rufus?" she demanded.

"Who cares?" Zack retorted bitterly, trying to staunch the flow of blood with the edge of Sephiroth's coat. "Do you _want_ the Shinra Corporation to continue harming the Planet, subjugating people, monopolising mako energy, insisting their armed forces wear stupid uniforms…" He pulled his hand away from Sephiroth's now bloody coat and decided, presumably Just Because, that his mutilated palm was still the more pressing issue. "And it's my _right_ hand. I'm never going to be able to—"

"Zack," Sephiroth interjected. "There is a..." he paused, clearly deliberating his terminology. "...woman and child present."

"Sephiroth!" Zack protested, somehow conspiring to sound both innocently shocked and gleefully scandalised. "Do I want to know what you were thinking of?"

Strife tugged uncertainly at the edge of Sephiroth's coat (by now Sephiroth was trying to remember why he'd ever thought long leather coats were a good idea). "Does he mean...?" Sephiroth leant down obligingly when Strife lowered his voice to whisper something in his ear.

Zack's totem animal was most definitely the hyena, Aeris decided, watching him cackle helplessly at the expression on Sephiroth's face. She resigned herself to spending what looked to be many, many long years surrounded by infantile male humour and decided the fireworks of Midgar were a much more pressing issue.

"At least Barret will be happy," Aeris said uncertainly, looking teary-eyed at the thought of such destruction (Zack was teary-eyed with joy and Strife appeared to be doing a victory dance). "He's always had such an affinity for blowing things up."

"Uh-huh," Strife piped up. "An' especially the ShinRa building. He really wanted that to go ka-boom."

"Yeah!" Zack grinned. "Damn ShinRa!"

Sephiroth decided that if his mind was to remain in a state in any way resembling intact, he had better leave these absolute maniacs before he too was infected with their psychosis. He stayed anyway, though fifteen minutes later he could be found attempting to beat his brains out on the ground.

* * *

**Meeting Grandfather Bugenhagen: **

Sephiroth was getting uncomfortable flashbacks to the Bouncy Blue Things just looking at the new arrival. Except the Grandfatherly Thing had twinkling eyes and the most ear-grating laugh he had _ever_ heard from someone who wasn't Heideggar. "...Why are you floating?"

Fortunately, Aeris kicked him hard in the ankle before he could commit another faux pas.

"Ho Ho Hoooo!"

Sephiroth hissed (an innate response to most laughter), reeled away in horror, and contemplated between curses the possible meeting of a red hot poker and those twinkly eyes that Zack seemed hypnotised by and even Strife appeared to be absolutely fascinated with. "Shiny," the blond muttered, reaching for them.

"I'll put them out for you," he offered helpfully, shuffling hard to the left to avoid another ankle-kick from the pink thing that just wouldn't leave him in peace.

"Yeah," Zack agreed helplessly. "Shiny." He moved forward, seemingly without conscious thought, mesmerised by the overwhelming power of the sheer sparkly-ness. "I want one. Seph, can I have one too? Please?"

Sephiroth nodded magnanimously, and started searching for implements capable of gouging while simultaneously dodging fluttering attacks from the menacing pink dressed harpy. Bugenhagen intelligently took note of the actions of his new acquaintances and started backing away slowly, uttering the same calming platitudes one gives to a dangerous animal that might still eat you if it feels like it.

(By the time Sephiroth had discovered a belt buckle was the sole weapon at his disposal and been able to spiritually cripple Aeris sufficiently enough for her to no longer prove a distraction, Bugenhagen had given up looking for trees to climb and was leaving the hemisphere as fast as he could float.)

* * *

A/N: ChibiRisu-chan and Kadrin. If you want find out where Zack got the idea of beating vending machines to death and what exactly Reno did with the paint, look for the latter. For minor Zack-isms but major story-love look for the former.


	19. Interlude

**Interlude: The Hedgehog and the Butterfly**

_In which Sephiroth tells a bedtime story._

* * *

Once upon a time there was a hedgehog named Zack.

Zack: Heeeyy!

Aeris: To be fair, your hairstyle really does resemble a hedgehog. Or a porcupine.

Zack: Remind me why I went out with you again?

Now hedgehogs are usually slow and stupid. Zack was a very odd hedgehog in that he was hyper and stupid.

Zack: Heeeyy!

Aeris: There's really no defence against that.

_Anyway_, if the peanut gallery would kindly shut up, one day, when Zack was out walking, he caught sight of a very pretty, if ditzy, pink butterfly, and, not being particularly intelligent or concerned with the liabilities and logistics of cross-species breeding, particularly between a mammal and an insect, which is utterly impossible – never mind what Hojo seems to think – decided he wanted to be her boyfriend. The pink butterfly, also being rather clueless about the problems regarding this, agreed.

Zack & Aeris: You--!

_You_ were the ones who put me on story duty, I'd like to point out. You have only yourselves to blame for this. Now, where were we? Oh yes, the hedgehog and the butterfly. So anyway, the hedgehog and the butterfly were very happy. For about five minutes, that being the limit of both their respective attention spans, after which point they began to bicker and argue and Zack became a battered boyfriend who cringed every time the butterfly entered the room, and the butterfly–

Aeris: I'd sue you for misrepresentation if there were any point.

The butterfly grew a sense of ego far out of proportion of her own importance and will shortly die if she keeps talking.

Ahem. So the butterfly, becoming bored with Zack the hedgehog, who eventually killed himself to get away –

Zack: No I didn't!

You died getting shot in the back. That's just _pathetic_ Zack; the lowest grunt could live through that. If it wasn't an act of suicide I don't know what is.

Zack: Actually, revisionists are saying I got a sniper bullet to the brain.

Let me reiterate: _pathetic. _Now, unless you wish to take over the story…?

Zack: No thanks.

The butterfly soon fell for a weird yellow chocobo. Or rather, the chocobo fell on her, because Someone Up There decided on whim to put a try out the cliché 'fallen from heaven' in a Midgarian setting. Or the Plate, anyway, not that Slum-dwellers would really know the difference.

Again, eugenics apparently being optional and intelligence limited, the butterfly moved in for the kill.

Zack: Aeris kills chcocobos?!

…never mind. Unfortunately, however, the chocobo was _ve-e-ery_ – how shall we put this? – _oblivious_. So utterly oblivious he wouldn't have noticed a pick-up line if it danced naked in front of him wearing nothing but a ribbon.

Aeris: I know every poison under the sun you know.

Good for you. So the butterfly, who was missing Zack the hedgehog just a little more than she'd originally anticipated, tried various ways to get a happy ending, because that's the way of these things. _But_, the problem was, the chocobo had another little friend who was just as determined and a hell of a lot better stacked.

Aeris: Sephiroth!

As I've already pointed out numerous times, you didn't want to tell the brat a story. This is _your_ fault. Now sit down, shut up, and stop distracting me.

Did you just _kick _me? Get back here! – Oh right, yes, the story. Zack, take over will you? – … kill you!

Zack: Okey-dokey Spike, looks like it's just you and me.

Zack: Yeah, well, being left alone with you terrifies me too.

(extended period of thumb-twiddling)

Right. Did Zack actually add anything? No?

…useless. Where'd we leave off again? Ah, right. Sooo… the ridiculously top-heavy bit—

Aeris: Sephiroth, this is _supposed_ to be a bedtime story!

I'm using the correct terminology for a female canine. You have a problem you can take it up with lexicologists. So, the very stupid (although admittedly quite attractive) female dog – which is called a bitch, by the way, but if you want to see your ninth birthday you'll never ever say that in front of Aeris – is competing with the butterfly over the chocobo, though gods only know why, and Zack the hedgehog has already – and quite conveniently too – gone to the Promised Land, thereby freeing the butterfly of any stain of guilt.

Now the butterfly, who had these flashes of great deviousness, decided that there was one sure-fire way to prevent the nice but dim b- doggy from ever keeping the chocobo, even if he ever actually noticed they were gunning for him, and that the best way to do it was to become a lingering and persistent ghost that made sure the chocobo felt like an disloyal bastard every time he even contemplated being happy-

Aeris: That is _not_ the reason I–

Being a ghost, understandably, requires being dead. So the butterfly fluttered off and deliberately put herself in the way of a shrike, which went and impaled her on a thorn bush, as they are accustomed to do. A shrike is also called a butcherbird, now hush up. Anyway. The butterfly went off into the Lifestream, and forgot completely about not liking Zack the hedgehog and they got back together, so they were happy. And the chocobo continued being completely oblivious and worshipping the butterfly so he was obliged to be frequently angsty but was otherwise happy. The poor dog could never quite drum home the fact that she liked the chocobo, so she was unhappy and whiny, which made the butterfly happy which meant Zack got less battering so _he_ was happy…

Aeris: And the shrike was a miserable, murderous bastard so nobody cared if he was happy.

And they all lived happily ever after. For about two minutes.

Aeris: Thank god you never went into childcare.

Oh look! Just 2,852,679 more days until I start caring what you think.

* * *

A/N: Just a reminder that the story is, point of fact, still alive. 

Oh come on, at least I wrote something!


	20. Hojo Go Boom

Sephiroth had only just recovered from Chocobo Head's latest demonstration of utter stupidity in deliberately and to no purpose standing in the way of a creature of mass destruction when he realised that not only was the boy _not_ heading towards the Crater as he should, he was actually strapping on a parachute.

He had a terrible idea he knew what was coming.

"I'm blaming you for this," he said grimly, breaking off his horrified stare for a moment to glare at Zack. Strife watched Zack expectantly, still convinced Sephiroth's glare was a weapon greater than the Masamune and that Zack would consequently keel over in short order.

"I didn't _do_ anything this time," Zack appealed helplessly to Aeris, busy ensuring Rufus remained alive while their attention was diverted. She cast a glance his way and noted his fingers were crossed.

"I didn't say it was your _fault_," Sephiroth snapped. "I said I was going to blame you. There's a difference."

Aeris wandered back over. "Sephiroth, do you really think the Planet is going to let him die parachuting into Midgar? After all that effort? Don't be silly." Sephiroth thought for a moment of objecting at being called 'silly', but decided after a careful sideways glance at Aeris that he was perhaps better off simply being silent. Aeris' motto appeared to be 'Former ShinRa Generals should be seen, not heard,' and he'd long since learnt the wisdom in obeying. Actually, excluding the 'former' from that phrase, that had been ShinRa's motto too, now that he thought about it.

He made a mental note to teach Zack the error of his ways in a most painful fashion when he was no longer distracted by the thought of Chocobo Head becoming a smear of something red and gelatinous on Midgar's streets.

"Taught 'im everything he knows," Zack said brightly, watching Cloud hit the ground and roll.

Sephiroth opened his mouth to reply, and then gave the thought more careful consideration than it deserved. "...Actually, you may be right. I'm fairly sure driving a motorcycle up several flights of stairs in the Shinra building and then through a glass window – all without a helmet, I might add – is the sort of thing you would teach the unfortunates under your care."

"He did that? Seriously?" Zack sniffed theatrically. "God, I'm so proud!"

Sephiroth stared. "...he could have _died_, Zack."

"So proud!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Aeris interjected, indicating she was clearly not only not wrong but also about to make an exceedingly sensible observation, "but I thought it was _your_ job to try and kill Cloud?"

Sephiroth switched his blank stare from the still deliriously giddy Zack to Aeris. "...Go away before I can no longer hold back the urge to kill you."

"Already done that, _hello_?"

Sephiroth continued staring. His ability to outstare anything – except cats – had always been one of his more intriguing abilities. Aeris took the hint and backed away slowly, palms up. Zack calmed down enough to realise it was probably conducive to a longer spirit-life not to remark on any other habits he might have unwittingly taught his former charge, Sephiroth returned to his occupation of fussing over Chocobo Head while vehemently denying he was fussing and Strife simply wished adults could act a little more grown-up.

"Remind me why this happening," Sephiroth said irritably, rocking back on his heels.

"Well." Aeris paused. "Two thousand years ago the Calamity-"

"I _meant_, why is Chocobo Head parachuting into Midgar?"

Aeris decided – looking at the spasmodically twitching eye, the repeated curling and uncurling of the fists, the tic in his cheek, the rapid, almost unnoticeable jerking of the head towards solid objects it was clearly desiring to beat its brains out against – that perhaps it would be best not to deliberately antagonise him for a while. The poor dear had absolutely no idea what was coming for him. "I do believe they're going to kill Hojo," she said brightly, and didn't get another word out before he kissed her.

"I love you!" he declared fervently, spinning around delightedly, arms spread wide. He stopped and frowned. "Well actually, no, no I don't, I hate you even more now than when you were alive... but you understand what I mean, I'm sure."

"Ruin a girl's dreams, why don't you?" she said wryly, rubbing her lips. Sephiroth gave her such a puzzled look she completely forgot she'd originally planned to slap him. "He's an _idiot_, your friend," she sighed to Zack as he looked between the both of them, terribly amused and faintly outraged.

Zack snorted. "Such a waste," he lamented bitterly. "Everywhere we went girls were throwing themselves at him and he never did anything! Too freakin' moral."

Sephiroth looked vaguely puzzled at the thought of himself being described as 'moral'. "That's right," he muttered to himself, perplexed. "I was moral once, wasn't I?"

Aeris made a noise that would have been regarded as a snort, were she not the demure, soft-spoken, angelic and mysterious remnant of an ancient civilisation.

"Ah, well," Sephiroth said with a shrug. "What has morality ever done for me? Now I can make children into orphans without having to go through the hassle of pretending to feel guilty."

"You are so... so..."

"Evil?" Zack suggested innocently. Or as innocently as Zack ever said anything.

Sephiroth took a deep breath in a futile attempt to stop himself indulging in one of his more homicidal tantrums. The entire world was clearly against him.

"Shiny." Strife said firmly, regarding his long hair with a covetous expression that sent chills up Sephiroth's spine.

"..." The entire _universe_ was against him.

Aeris looked understandably amused. "Well, I was actually going to say heartless, but he is very shiny, isn't he? It's _the hair_, I'm sure."

The _multiverse_ was against him.

* * *

"I still say Reno demonstrates brains for once in his life and retreats," Sephiroth said, bored enough to indulge Zack in his betting mood.

"Nah, 350 says Turk ethics get the better of 'em."

"Zack," Sephiroth said carefully, "You are aware that 'Turks' and 'ethics' are completely incompatible terms?"

Zack rolled his eyes. "The Turk work ethic – do the job at all costs." He did a quite impressive imitation of Tseng, given that Tseng wouldn't be seen dead with hair like his. "Outnumbered twenty to one? Do the job. Missing a limb or three? Do the job. Scattered in pieces all over Midgar, the biggest piece being a trigger finger, a few connected nerve tissues and part of the cerebral cortex? Do the job."

Sephiroth shook his head pityingly. "You are depriving Gongaga of its idiot. Turks follow orders. There is nobody left to give them those orders."

"They were given orders before Rufus went to the megalomaniac's paradise in the sky," Zack argued.

Aeris sighed and gave them a pointed look. "When you two have grown up and realised there is no way for you to get money here _anyway_, please take note that the Turk incident was twenty minutes ago and they are now facing Scarlet and Heidegger."

They blinked at her.

"Didn't you hear? They must have read 'Megalomania for Dummies'at some point because they gave the standard spiel about an invincible machine, blah, blah, 'let's see how you do against this,' and 'proud clod will defeat you' and so on and so forth."

"P-pr-proud _clod_?" Zack whimpered. Sephiroth was doing little better, chewing ferociously on his coat to try and prevent himself cackling out loud.

Aeris maintained a bewildered sense of dignity in pretending she didn't know what was so funny. "…Does she always name things like that?"

"Oh yeah," Zack breathed, having not quite got his breath back. "C'mon, were you even listening when she named the mako cannon?" At the mention of this, Sephiroth's self-control, which had never been in great supply following his exit from the military, snapped.

Strife patted his elbow gingerly, being too short to reach any higher. "Sephy, are you okay?" This naturally reduced Zack little more than a convulsing ball of laughter, while Sephiroth finally collapsed, his ribs aching. Strife exchanged a panicked look with Aeris, who took pity on him and led the poor man away from the unholy influence of Zack. He eventually improved enough to make a weak protest that he wanted to see the impending death and destruction, which Aeris took to be a good indication of his recovery and let him go back.

"Please, please, _please_ tell me he's dead," Zack begged. Nobody needed to ask who 'he' was.

"Poor Heidegger," Sephiroth said pityingly. "Not that anyone would have paid attention at the best of times, but to die with 'argh' and 'whoooa!' as your last words…"

"Better put it down as 'Let's see how you do against anti-Weapon artillery!'" Aeris advised. "At least then he makes an actual contribution to society by adding to compendiums of famous last words."

"If he's dead, does that mean he'll turn up here too?" Strife asked innocently, and was surprised by the instantaneous and dramatic reaction the question garnered.

* * *

"Oh, how I have waited for this day," Sephiroth murmured, so lost in anticipation he could already see Hojo's entrails decorating the walls.

Aeris shook her head at him wearily. "There are more things to life than killing people, you know."

Sephiroth stared at her. "Aeris, he was responsible for the death of both your parents. He hounded you throughout your childhood. He put you in a cage to be _eaten_. Or worse now that I think about it." He shuddered. "And I don't want to think about it."

"That still doesn't mean he's incapable of redemption..."

Strife stared at her. "...You're _weird_," he said, in a tone of utter amazement. Sephiroth and Zack nodded sagely in agreement, both giving her identical looks of disgusted incredulity.

"Aeris," Sephiroth said calmly, "As... _commendable_ as your beliefs are, kindly exercise some common sense with them. There are demons more likely to be swayed to the side of all things light and holy than Hojo. Furthermore-"

"_What will Sephiroth think when he finds out I'm his father?_" Sephiroth's head moved so fast on his neck Aeris was convinced he'd broken it. Or was somehow part-owl.

Hojo's burst of maniacal laughter quite coincidentally coincided with Zack calmly and with great insight leaping upon Sephiroth just in time to stop him trying to impale himself on Strife's hair. Strife, far from being perturbed by being made part of an impromptu suicide attempt, was trying very, very hard to imagine Sephiroth with greasy hair, and failing. Zack, showing more sense than anyone save his mother had ever credited him with, refused to let Sephiroth up, despite his feeble protests that he was fine, he wouldn't prefer to be utterly incapable of rational thought, he wasn't going to try killing himself with Strife's hair again... Admittedly, he also added that he now remembered Strife's hair to be a substance incapable of causing bodily harm, despite its rigidity of appearance, and he did note that it would much more preferable to kill Hojo instead.

The only slight compensation was seeing even Cid of the unspeakably foul mouth looking utterly horrified at the profanity Hojo had just uttered.

"Ramuh tap-dancing on a mountain, has he grown tentacles?" Zack blurted out, leaving Sephiroth in a catatonic heap to get a closer look. "Oh, _gross_," he said with fascinated disgust.

Strife prodded Sephiroth carefully. There was no reaction. "You're missing all the fun, Sephy!" He studied him intently, and decided he'd just imagined the middle finger twitching. What to do, what to do...

He took a deep breath. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He leapt.

Sephiroth, in the middle of the delicate process of gathering his mental faculties from where they'd been blown to pieces and scattered across the Lifestream, received the full weight of an eight-year-old child directly into his stomach.

* * *

When he finally stopped gasping for air like an asthmatic smoker, he attempted to strangle the boy and might have succeeded in destroying an integral part of Chocobo Head's psyche if Zack hadn't screamed, "Look! Hojo go boom!" at the top of his lungs.


	21. Sephiroth Bows Out

There was just something in the air that said tomorrow was going to be the day a battle took place, and people were going to die. Sephiroth inhaled deeply – it was nice to find something familiar in this godforsaken place. Strife looked at him funny, but as he'd been doing that a lot since Sephiroth's victory dance over Hojo, it was easy to ignore.

"Right. Popcorn."

Aeris joined the blond in staring at Sephiroth has if he'd taken a leaf out of Jenova's book and grown another head.

"What is so odd about demanding popcorn? I've got front row seats on those two," he pointed at the odd couple of one utterly perplexed Chocobo Head and one indecisive Whiny Girl.

Aeris took a deep breath, while the other three in the vicinity steeled themselves. "I don't believe you! How could you do such a thing?"

He blinked innocently at her. "What _exactly_ do you think they'll end up doing?"

She turned a rather unattractive red and spluttered. "Isn't it _obvious_?"

Sephiroth turned slightly to share smirks with Zack. "Nope. Woman, bring me popcorn."

There was the sound of open palm meeting cheek. "Don't you have _any_ sense of decency?"

"Aeris," he said pleasantly (though his eye was twitching at an incredible rate above the bright red mark splayed across his face). "The eve of a battle always yields top entertainment value in sappy declarations of love and irrelevant and humiliating confessions. Trust me, it's the only thing that makes it all worth it."

"...and if they do... _you know_?"

Zack seemed all set to stretch out Aeris' communication problems with a 'no-I'm-sure-I-don't-know' so he hastily interrupted, raising an eyebrow at her. "If Chocobo Head gets laid by the end of this night, I'm a donkey. Bring popcorn."

She scowled at him. "I don't think so. See you tomorrow, Eeyore. _Some_ of us understand the meaning of the word 'privacy'."

He snorted. "You're tied with every conscious on the Planet, none of us have any privacy." Fortunately, she was out of earshot. He turned to the boy. "Strife, get popcorn. This should be entertaining."

* * *

It was _extremely _entertaining. Not that Strife – who had tried to bury his head in the Lifestream's non-existent sand to stop the humiliation – would agree, but Zack certainly did. Sephiroth managed two Zack-sized (e.g. mega-mega sized) buckets of spiritual popcorn, one large piece of candy-floss, one blatant (to anyone but the Chocobo Head) attempt to get Chocobo Head to just shut up and kiss like any normal person, three moments of nauseating self-pity, one bout of manfully (er… womanfully) suppressed tears and seven examples of humiliating, confession-skirting pieces of conversation on both sides before being violently sick.

He didn't much enjoy the look of frosty moral superiority on Aeris' face the next morning, but was buoyed by the fact that even she was reduced to smothering snorts of laughter by the time midday arrived. Sephiroth particularly liked the Ninja Brat's attempt on Chocobo Head's materia, while Zack voted Cid for 'Most Unlikely Pre-Battle Confession Ever', arguing that admitting you were a closet Loveless fan was far superior in the humiliating and pointless confession stakes than anything Chocobo Head or Whiny Girl had (thus far) managed. Aeris dropped the paper-thin façade of snootiness to giggle fondly over Vincent's creepy little monologue about gates of tomorrow and battles beneath the earth. Strife, on the other hand, grew worried over the adults' preoccupation with exchanging notes with the end of the world just one big chunk of rock away and hit Chocobo Head so hard he told his team to 'mosey'.

By the time Sephiroth had recovered his composure, it was too late. He looked up to discover Aeris watching him with an anticipatory gleam that meant inescapable trouble and/or humiliation was coming. It seemed to be happening terribly frequently these days. He wondered if he'd be in the same position if it were only the end of his career rather than his life coming up. Clearly, every malevolent force in the universe had saved up every moment of indignity due in his lifetime and reserved it for his last days.

"What now?" he said resignedly. Had President ShinRa still been alive he would have taken notes from Aeris on how to break Sephiroth's spirit.

"Now? We are going to discuss the Final Battle."

He closed his eyes. When you could hear capitalisation, the signs were not good.

"Or rather," she added musingly, "the Final Battles. Plural. And of course, what forms you'll be taking."

Sephiroth wrenched his eyes back open. She couldn't possibly have said what his ears insisted she'd said... "What?"

"The Final Battles," she repeated patiently. "Three of them. And the forms you're going to take for them. Now, I think perhaps a giant mutant for the first, failings of the flesh and earthly life and such. It's terribly irritating to see you looking perfect all the time…"

Sephiroth repeated himself with a little more vehemence: "_What?_" He rubbed his temples gently, before remembering headaches needed a body. "I don't know what among your garden plants you've been smoking, but I advise you to stop before you become the female equivalent of Zack. I am not participating in more than one bloody end-all battle, thank you very much."

"How should I put this?" Aeris mused rhetorically. Sephiroth's blackened and barely-functional heart sank to his boots.

"In Midgarian Standard and out loud would be a start," he said flatly, the sense of doom pressing ever heavier on his shoulders. "Otherwise, I have no preference."

She gave a scathing look that felt like an unpractised attempt at a glare to flay the skin off his bones. He gave her an irritatingly smug grin in response, knowing from long-ago first attempts at the selfsame glare she was attempting that nothing else was quite so exasperating as imperviousness. "Let me put it in terms you will understand then," she said. "You _will_ do this, and in return I may refrain from tearing out your internal organs in alphabetical order."

"Allow me to give you my response in the simple vocabulary you apparently have great difficulty in understanding: no. I will not participate in more than one 'Final Battle', and I certainly will not participate in anything that requires me to become a mutant freak. I don't care what you try to do me; I was receiving death threats when you were still playing with dolls."

"Don't be silly," Aeris snapped. "Three battles, three forms. It's the way these things are done."

"...The end of the world arrives in Meteor form often, does it?" Sephiroth inquired mildly.

Aeris heaved a sigh of incomparable exasperation. "It's just the way things are, Sephiroth. Three is a powerful magical number; hence three battles in three different forms. If we're to do things exactly by the book we'd probably also do something with three different realms, you know, earth, sky, spirit, blah, blah. You know people, the more meaningless something is, the more meanings they interpret."

Sephiroth paused and considered his options. His decision was made considerably easier by the fact he didn't have any. He started burnishing the Masamune instead, determined to make it gleam so brightly it blinded everybody stupid enough to glance in his direction. A more intelligent being than Zack or Strife might have noted that he seemed to be treating the task more as an act of aggression which the Masamune should not survive rather than as a relaxation method. "While I understand I am to throw these battles for Chocobo Head and the continued survival of the human race, I'm hardly going to make it easy for them. There is absolutely no way he'll survive three battles."

Strife looked peeved at this blunt piece of truthfulness; Sephiroth patted his hair absently, then checked – as he did every time he touched Strife's hair, however infrequently that might be – if his hand required bandaging.

"Well, the third battle is entirely out of the physical realm, you understand." Aeris explained patiently. "And you _are_ going to lose, and very easily."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to tell her in no uncertain terms just what exactly he thought of that idea. She smiled. He closed it again.

"Cloudy," he said haughtily to the (rather tattered and worn) doll as he stalked off, determined to pretend there wasn't a foregone conclusion, "It's time to take over the world!"

* * *

The final speeches fulfilled his expectations of an embarrassing spectacle. Fortunately, taking physical form again after so long in the Lifestream meant he was far too doped to comprehend them. Or understand much of anything of the first battle. He did wonder why there were three pieces of rock large enough to support groups of three people defying the laws of gravity, but as he himself considered gravity to be one of a number of suggested options, he quickly dismissed the thought to concentrate on why exactly he seemed to be missing legs. Again.

* * *

The first thing Sephiroth had the misfortune to notice about the second battle was the ecstatic choral music. He took it for granted that he would have a hymn just in praise of his brilliance and moved on. The second thing was a little odder.

He looked around, and noticed that his right arm had feathers.

"Holy Mother of God!" The horrified screech was just barely in the range of human hearing. "What the fuck happened to my arm?" There were several other exclamations that followed closely after this, but fortunately they were sufficiently muffled as to be indistinguishable. He waved the new arm experimentally. Dark feathers fluttered down. Then he made the mistake of following their shaky little flight paths, and discovered that somehow several pairs of wings had replaced his legs.

It is not every day you discover you have gained several new appendages, so Sephiroth may be forgiven for the utter incoherency of his next words.

"Spff," Sephiroth said, incredulously.

"Nngh," Sephiroth said, as he realised that he really _was_ floating up and down unevenly in the air.

"Eeeh?" he managed at last, and hoped nervously that the wings knew what they were doing because he certainly didn't.

It was then, waving his one remaining human hand around frantically, he discovered the halo. And really, things just went from bad to worse from there.

* * *

The one consolation of losing that battle was that he also lost the feathers.

He glared at The Pink Thing That Was The Source Of All His Problems, still spitting out feathers and pretty sure he was going to be finding them in his clothes for years to come. She gave him an enthusiastic round of applause.

"Just what the hell," he spat, "do you call that?"

Aeris grinned delightedly. "I'm pretty sure that counts as hubris or something. I thought you'd like it." He glared at her. "Well, the rest of us enjoyed the show anyway."

"You broke just about every law of physics," he said, tipping a boot upside down and watching two knives, a long piece of coiled wire, a slim sheaf of crumpled gil notes, the keycard to President ShinRa's office and several downy feathers hit the ground.

"Psh," she said airily. "Like you don't every day? Besides, they're not _laws_ exactly. More like sensible suggestions." She preened absently. Sephiroth – who now knew as he had never wanted to the meaning of 'preening' – glared. "Just one more battle to go and it'll all be over." She smiled beatifically in a way Sephiroth had long since learned meant she was lying.

He pulled a pinfeather from his waistband and stared at it. "... just... no more feathers."

"No," Aeris agreed serenely. "No feathers. No coat, either," she added under her breath as he walked off haughtily to the designated area to await Cloud's arrival.

Beside her, Zack struggled valiantly with the leather straps of Sephiroth's coat as was defeated by their impracticality. Giving up, he started twisting and turning, trying to imagine himself in a mirror, the edges of the coat dragging along the ground. "You know, I think leather suits me."

Aeris sent an indulgent look his way and ushered Strife to one side so that he could argue with Chocobo Head about the Three Part Final Battle Rule without Sephiroth hearing and realising it wasn't actually necessary for him to die a third time. Everything was going to plan. For the first time she understood the desire of the Forces of Evil to indulge in maniacal laughter.

She decided against it only because there was still one battle to go, a battle that relied heavily on Sephiroth's own willingness to be defeated and become part of the Lifestream – and Sephiroth was the greatest example of bloody-minded stubbornness she'd ever seen, he could make things extremely difficult if he had a mind to.

* * *

Sephiroth tapped his foot impatiently. He was actually looking forward to meeting Chocobo Head again. This fact, more than anything, confirmed to his mind at last just how very far he'd fallen. He was quite certain he'd once uttered something along the lines of 'If I never see him again it'll be an eternity too soon'. He paused. He might have been speaking of Strife. He was quite certain he'd never expressed such sentiments in regard to either Cloudy the doll or Cloud the chocobo (he was very fond of the bird, having never had the time to breed and race chocobos himself, and anyway, he'd made a fortune betting on him).

Somewhere far off, Strife appeared to be having vehement argument with thin air that contained much screaming and tears of frustration. The man known as Chocobo Head, apparently unaware of the Three-Part Final Battle Rule, started to walk away.

Sephiroth became terribly still for a long moment. Ice particles started to form in his hair. "You are NOT walking away from me, you chocobo headed little bastard!"

Inhabitants of the Lifestream on the same continent as the Northern Crater clapped their hands to their ears. Chocobo Head carried on walking.

Of all the indignities Sephiroth had suffered in his bizarre quest to take over the world for a haircut (and there had been many, many indignities) having Cloud Strife walk away from him in the middle of fight was the most exasperating, the most humiliating, the most utterly galling thing ever to occur to his ego. He was the Great Sephiroth, General of the most powerful armed forces in the world, considered a war deity in some truly backward provinces that have never even heard of ShinRa. And the featherhead walked away without a backward glance. It was an even greater insult than that brief period spent as Whiny Girl.

It was at this point that Strife sent him a memory of Chocobo Head neatly kitted out in a dress, wig and make-up, and Corneo ecstatically announcing that he chose "this healthy-looking girl!"

Sephiroth studied the image for a frozen second, before bursting into peals of stress-relieving maniacal laughter.

It did the trick. Chocobo Head had always been highly sensitive to laughter, he recalled.

Of course he recognised that his chances of living were that much higher if he stayed quiet and simply let him walk away, but at this point he was really quite desperate for it all to end and stop bothering him.

He smiled broadly when Chocobo Head came into view at last, and was gratified at the tight-lipped grin he received in return. If there was the fleeting urge to stick his tongue out, he blamed it on far too long spent around children (Zack being an adult only by default, and quite possibly not even that).

They stared at each other for a long moment. Chocobo Head would never know the effort of will that meant he got the first strike. By the time Sephiroth saw the glimmer of magic that preceded a limit break, he was quite sure he couldn't be more exhausted if they'd been battling for hours. Who knew fighting against one's better nature ( it would be a great service to the world to prevent idiots such as Chocobo Head breeding) was so draining? He would have tapped his foot impatiently, but there are some rules even the most maverick of villains couldn't go against, particularly with the end of the world involved. Namely, try to look like it mattered when the world started crumbling to pieces, especially if you were the one who started the whole business in the first place.

All further musings upon life, death, the apocalypse and why exactly was he naked to the waist were driven out of his mind by a very large, very sharp sword suddenly connecting with his body. Fifteen hits in quick succession didn't exactly allow much time for thought, but Omnislash, Sephiroth could just about admit without feelings of professional inadequacy, was quite simply one the most stunning limit breaks he'd ever had the fortune to see. If only he hadn't been on the receiving end of it.

As might be expected, he was a little too busy bleeding to death to think much after that.

* * *

"Umm…"

Sephiroth _hated_, even more than knowing for absolutely certain at last that cutting his hair was a total impossibility, the knowledge that he understood Strife. It was singularly humiliating, as it not only implied that Sephiroth had the ability to connect and empathise with a human being, but also meant that he took it upon himself to lend an understandable cadence to the boy's more unintelligible speech. To be exact, he was Strife's unofficial spokesperson. This brought him more trouble than he would have imagined possible.

Sharing a wary look with Zack, he took a deep breath. "Aeris, I'm pretty sure the Lifestream swirling around the Chocobo Head serves some purpose aside from giving the mistaken impression that my blood-soaked soul is redeemed. What is it?"

"Can't you see I'm _busy_?" came the aggrieved shriek somewhere in the centre of the roiling mass of green as Aeris exerted all her power holding the Lifestream back until the planetary carbuncle known as Midgar was damaged beyond repair.

Sephiroth cringed, and forced himself to meet the damnably knowledge and ever so guileless eyes of Strife, which said incredibly clearly: you are so whipped.

Sephiroth silently replied that he'd like to see _him_ go toe-to-toe with a pre-menstrual women, to which Strife smugly retorted that the joys of adulthood were his to bear, and was there something suspicious to be drawn from his avoidance of women?

Aeris stepped in at this point to prevent Sephiroth irreparably damaging an essential part of Chocobo Head's psyche, as Zack had his work cut out simply watching the bizarre non-verbal exchange in utter incomprehension. After demonstrating admirable understanding of the result of connecting a staff with certain areas of the male anatomy, she snarled that Chocobo Head expected some sort of acknowledgement for his hard work and victory, and as she didn't have time, could Sephiroth _please_ reach down a hand before she finished the job and castrated him?

"Don't look so revolted," she snapped, correctly reading his expression as he contemplated the joys of self-mutilation and was it worth being an amputee just to avoid the chore? "Your fingers won't even brush, you big baby. No one will be able to tell the difference."

Thoughts of amputation were quickly replaced with moral outrage at the insinuation that _anyone_, even his beloved but oh-so dumb Chocobo Head, could possibly be stupid enough to mistake his arm for a woman's. However, he valued safety over his fatally wounded ego decided not to verbally protest against it, glaring instead.

"Sephiroth," she gritted out in a tone that could flay a Weapon, bring his former subordinates to muster twice as fast as he could and instantly laid to rest his burgeoning arguments about how she always wore those monstrous bracelets and that short-sleeved red jacket. "You remember our arrangement?"

He thought for a moment of protesting, but then had a long look at Aeris' expression and took second, third and fourth thoughts about doing so. "…Yes ma'am." He murmured weakly, carefully avoiding Zack's (malicious, no doubt) gaze. "May I try to maim him with the other one?" he suggested, without much hope.

"No you may not!" she screamed. "Just do it!"

He turned back, resigned to sacrifice the last minuscule remnants of his pitiful and ragged dignity on the altar of Aeris' whims. He'd so been hoping he could get through it with a microscopic amount intact. "Zack," he said desperately as his gaze fell upon his friend (making odd choking noises).

"Sorry, Seph," Zack responded guilelessly, straightening up, only the suspicious twitching at the corner of his mouth giving him away, "I value my life and ability to procreate."

"...you're _dead_."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I value it any less," he retorted, dignified. He promptly turned away to be able to cackle without the possibility of being throttled on the receiving end of Sephiroth's displeasure.

Sephiroth stared at his back, before reaching for the last option available to him. "...Strife."

The boy blinked innocently and waved an arm in front of his face. Even Chocobo Head wouldn't be fooled, Sephiroth had to admit. He closed his eyes in suffering and reached down a hand (and kicked Zack hard when he couldn't suppress a yelp of laughter).

"Aeris says the fluctuations in glow and mako strength will cause enough distortion to fool anyone, never mind him." Strife said, sitting next to him and tugging his discarded coat around him.

Sephiroth looked to Aeris' furious, fixated and ominously silent face, then turned back and stared at him. "No she didn't."

Strife ignored him, as most people seemed to do these days. "She also said, of course she could have brought her mother in or something, but you've been such an asshole she decided not to."

"Now wait just a–"

"Okay Sephiroth, you can go disinfect your arm with acid now."

Sephiroth stood up, tugged his coat away from around Strife's shoulders and stalked off with as much haughtiness as he could muster from the tiny part of him that wasn't planning to discover if it was possible to commit ritual suicide after you'd already died. He kicked Zack once more for good measure where he lay on the floor, convulsing with silent hiccups of laughter.

"...That was cruel, Aeris." The blond murmured quietly from where he clung to her skirts, watching Sephiroth stalk off.

"I know," she said smugly, before turning back and stepping over Zack to concentrate fully on when to release the Lifestream.

* * *

_An Epilogue Of Sorts_:

"No."

"It isn't a choice, Sephiroth."

"_No._"

"You know you're bored."

"I'll thank you not to tell me what I may or may not be. I am not participating in this- this _farce_."

"As if the big deal with Meteor was such much better,"

"What is the point?"

"Cloud gets a purpose. The Lifestream gets a break from you. That nasty disease is healed..."

"No. And you could deal with the Geostigma yourself, you lazy bitch. You just want to draw the agony out."

"Jenova is finally destroyed."

"You said that last time and what does Rufus have in a box? Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

"You can have a haircut."

"Jenova promised that and look how it ended."

"I don't break my promises."

"...Aeris, you're speaking to someone who knows you."

"Your remnants get haircuts."

"Do I want to ask?"

"Three. Naturally. You can compare and contrast."

"I think not."

"...Please."

"No. ...Get off the floor."

"Pretty please."

"No."

"You can have a huge fight with Cloud."

"He's reached Valentine levels of angst. He's no fun anymore."

"You know you've missed him."

"Missed him? How can I miss him if he won't go away? He spends all his time chatting to you. And you should really stop doing that while he's on that bike of his. I do _not_ want him turning up here for several years. Preferably never, but for centuries at least."

"Aww, you _know_ you want to see him again."

"...Why won't you go to the Promised Land and leave me alone?"

"Please."

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No."

"...Fine."

"Hey, Seph, I _dare_ you when you show up to tell Cloud 'long time, no see' and give him the sexiest grin in your repertoire."

"...Because that's the standard greeting when meeting your mortal enemy again, Zack."

"So? If you do it I'll-"

"Wear a dress."

"Aeris!"

"Done."

"Sephiroth!"

* * *

A/N: Two years and twenty chapters after I thought it'd be finished with it's finally... over?

...Now what do I do?


End file.
